


An Unlikely Confidant

by Thrsdynxt



Series: The Journey Back [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Kissing, Sex, Thoughts of Suicide, hexes, injuried hermione, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9202208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrsdynxt/pseuds/Thrsdynxt
Summary: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger strike up an awkward, and secret, friendship after Fred finds Hermione struggling with the break from Harry and Ron in her third year. Starts during PoA and continues through DH. Stand-alone companion piece to my first fanfic,The Journey Back. Mostly canon compliant (meaning Fred still dies).





	1. Brand New Secret Best Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I originally published this on FFN under the same name.

Even from the foot of the Astronomy Tower stairs, the frigid winter wind howled. Black cloak buttoned tight, Fred Weasley spiraled higher, gloved hands clutching a small sack of the latest designs for the Weasley and Weasley whiz-bang fireworks. His twin brother, George, and their best mate, Lee Jordan, were somewhere below on the frozen grounds searching for the best view for the coming display. 

Reaching the top of the tower, Fred quietly eased open the door of the Astronomy Tower. Hazel eyes darted around the open platform as heavy white flakes circled his head and stung his face. His gaze landed upon a familiar huddled form and Fred bit back a curse. Of course Hermione bloody Granger would be on the open Astronomy Tower on the coldest day of the year so far, ‘studying’ non-existent stars in a snowstorm. Turning away in a frustrated huff, Fred muttered to himself about ruined plans and bossy swots. He stomped down the first steps before throwing one last mutanous glare over his shoulder through the crack of the shutting door, heavy put-upon sigh freezing in his throat.

A large hand shot out to stop the door’s progress and Fred stared in wide-eyed horror. Cold that had nothing to do with the weather burrowed deep into his gut as he watched Hermione sway far closer to the edge of the Astronomy Tower than anyone had the right to be. Angry, riotous curls tangled about her head in the bitter wind. Even from the door to the platform, he could see her shoulders shaking in sobs the wind greedily consume.

Too surprised for thought, Fred strode quickly, purposefully, across the platform, slowing hesitantly as he drew closer. He warily eyed her quaking figure as he would a wild animal, reaching for her with timid trepidation.

“Alright there, Granger?” Fred whispered hoarsely, his hand brushing her shoulder.

Her high shriek pierced the air, and she whirled toward him, teetering. Red-rimmed brown eyes widened with fear and horror before Fred clasped her upper arm hard to steady her. 

“Fred,” she croaked, her voice strained. Fighting to control breaths coming in harsh, shaky pants, Hermione’s mittened hands brushed furiously at her tear stained face. 

He stared at her.

“I was just…. the view…” she muttered lamely, taking a small, subtle step away from him, a movement that was not lost on Fred.

Casting a quick glance over the edge and back again, Fred scowled incredulously. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

She tried to laugh it off though the efforts that escaped her chapped lips were closer to a mangled sob. “Yes, well, everyone else says they’re so bloody great,” she gestured airily, her emotions clouded.

Fred’s grip on her arm tightened. “With a broom under you, yeah,” he said slowly, the scowl deepening over his freckled features. “But I don’t think flying is what you had in mind.”

Already pink cheeks flushed impossibly darker. Hermione glared at him a moment before yanking her arm away. “And how would you know what I have in mind, Fred?” she said his name bitterly, mockingly. Hermione then took another step away from him, and to his immense relief, further from the edge. “It isn’t as though you and I have anything in common, is it? Isn’t like we’re friends.” Her head dropped, brown curls falling forward to hide her expression so he almost missed her whisper, “Isn’t as though you would miss me.”

Fred blinked hard before studying her a long moment. She wrapped her arms around herself defensively, scowling at the ground as she ground her teeth. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“That’s not true, Granger,” he said softly, his brow creased in thinly masked concern. “I bet you and I have loads in common.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

Fred smirked, “For one, I guarantee you and I both think Ron’s a prat.” 

The tension coiled in his chest since arriving at the top of the tower eased the slightest bit when the corners of her lips twitched in a small smile before falling back into a scowl. Feeling braver, Fred took a step toward her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Come now, Granger. That one deserved a real smile. You can’t really be the ice queen they say you are.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he groaned and silently cursed himself, closing his eyes with a grimace. 

Furious brown eyes widened, flashing with hurt and malice. An ugly sneer marred her face. “I have it on good authority that you were the one to start that rumor, Fred Weasley,” she spat, jabbing him in the chest with a sharp finger.

Flinching, Fred rubbed at the site of the painful jab. “Would you believe me if I told you George did it?”

He just had time to register the shine of tears before Hermione turned from him in an angry huff. “Go away, Fred,” she said, her voice wavering. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Fred silently berated himself. He sighed. “Look, Granger. Hermione. I’m sorry about that, yeah? But you were always acting like our mum, telling us off for having fun and laughing too loudly in the common room. I just…” he sighed again, and ran a gloved hand through his shaggy, orange hair. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione snorted spitefully. “Just another thing wrong with me,” she muttered to herself, causing Fred to start in surprise.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Hermione,” he said with utter conviction.

Sorrow and shame filled the glassy eyes that flicked briefly toward him before turning resolutely away. Undeterred, Fred reached out a hand, pulling her around into an awkward hug. Small arms wrapping around his hard torso, Hermione buried her face into his chest. 

“I mean it,” Fred said into her frizzy hair, attempting to smooth it with his gloves. “There is nothing wrong with you, Granger. No matter what me or George or anyone else might have said in a misguided attempt at humor. Or annoyance,” he added as an after thought. 

She shrugged noncommittally, curling her fists around the folds of his cloak, silent tears bleeding through. They stood quietly for a time, her tears gradually becoming bitter sobs in his arms. Fred stood helpless as Hermione cried out her pain into his clothes. After long minutes, she quieted again, the occasional sniffle the only thing he heard through the snow. Fred squeezed her shoulders.

“Want to go inside and talk a bit?”

She nodded and let him lead her just inside the Astronomy Tower door. Pulling the door shut tight behind them, Fred warded it against the wind before casting a warming charm and plopping down onto the step. Hermione looked down at him stiffly, her embarrassment blooming full force across her cheeks now that she was no longer hidden from view. 

Fred smirked at her discomfort and patted the seat next to him. “Why don’t you just sit and tell Uncle Freddy what’s the matter?”

Hermione stiffened, her face shifting into a mask of annoyance. “You don’t need to be condescending, Fred. I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Before she could move, he grasped her hand and gently but insistently pulled her down on the step. “Just trying to lighten the tension. I’m sorry. I’ll be serious.”

Hermione scoffed despite shrinking into herself.

“What? I can be serious, you know,” he huffed, crossing his arms indignantly, his pointed nose up in the air. He eyed her suspiciously. “That is, if you can deign to talk to me.”

Chewing her lip nervously, Hermione studied her fuzzy, red mittens. “Harry and Ron haven’t spoken to me in more than a month,” she said finally, her head still bowed.

Fred snorted, shaking his head, his posture relaxing into the step beside her. “Thought I’d noticed something was amiss with you three.” He slapped his knee is reprimand before leveling her with a sober gaze. He shook an admonishing finger at her. “And I told you Ron was a prat. What’ve the buggers done now?”

She grimaced, shrinking even more. “It’s really more what I’ve done.”

He watched her silently, brows pulled down in cautious curiosity. After a moment, he bumped her shoulder with his encouragingly, smirking when she shot him a brief, timid smile.

Returning her gaze to her mittens, Hermione took several deep, steadying breaths and screwed her eyes shut. “I made Harry turn in the Firebolt he got for Christmas to be checked for curses,” she said quickly in one swooshing breath before flinching away from him as she awaited his reaction.

Several moments passed and Fred remained utterly still beside her. She risked a sideways glance at him. Fred, for his part, tried valiantly not to explode at her in confusion and frustration. Finally letting out a hard breath, his chin dropped to his chest and he winced. “Why?” he asked, voice strained.

Hermione wrung her hands, distraught. “There was no note! That broom could have been from anyone, including Sirius Black,” the words poured from her mouth in a torrent. “You remember what happened Harry’s first game. Quarrel cursed his broom then. What’s to prevent an escaped mass murderer with a known grudge against Harry to not attempt the same thing?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Fred groaned. He studied the wall for a long moment, gathering himself before grinding out slowly, “As much as I hate to admit it, having the broom checked was probably the safest thing.” He turned in time to see her blink at him in surprise. “But a Firebolt, Granger? Come on,” he whined, his face pained. “Do you want Slytherin to win the Cup?”

Hurt hardened into a scowl before Hermione looked back down at her hands. “You sound just like Ron,” she mumbled bitingly.

“Hey!” Fred said, affronted. “There is no need for name calling. I agreed your choice was likely for the best.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged, returning to studying her shoes. Her attention snapped back to him a moment later when he snorted.

“How does it feel, Granger?” he asked with a smirk, relaxed back on his elbows, looking at the stone above them. 

She scowled, confused. “How does what feel?”

Fred grimaced. “Being an old soul constantly surrounded by immature, childish prats.” He waved a hand to indicate himself before turning to her, eyes full of sincerity. “I mean, how’s that feel when there’s really no one your age to relate?”

She gasped at him, eyes wide before looking away quickly. Teeth worried her lower lip and she wiped angrily at her traitor tears. Fred began to fidget uncomfortably, worried not that he was incorrect in his assessment, but that he’s hit too close to home. Just as he was about to speak to try to smooth things over once again, she beat him to it.

“It’s lonely,” she breathed. Her eyes found him then, shining bright with emotion. “Even when I actually have friends, it’s lonely.” She shook her head then as if the clear it. 

Fred hesitated only a moment before throwing an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t need to be lonely, Hermione,” he said softly. 

She snorted and pulled away. “And why not,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Because you’ll be my friend? Because you can relate?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes at her skeptical gaze. “Okay, well no, I can’t really relate. At least not all the time. But I will be your friend, Granger,” he said, his voice earnest.

She stared at him a long moment. “I don’t want your pity, Fred,” she bit.

“Good thing I wasn’t giving it then,” he bit back.

“How can we be friends?” she asked angrily, pulling his arm off her shoulders, and gesturing wildly in her agitation. “We’ve hardly said five whole sentences to one another before today that wasn’t some generic greeting. I don’t even know a thing about you!”

“Well,” he said, slowly, thoughtfully. “You know I’m Fred. That’s a might better start than most.”

Hermione glared at him incredulously.

He forced a smile at her, wincing slightly. 

“Did you know you’re one of only three people who seem to be able to tell me and George apart with any amount of accuracy? The other two are Bill and Ginny and they hardly count, being blood relation and all. Hell, Granger,” he huffed, running his hand through his hair, “even Lee get’s us mixed up more than his fair share and he’s our best mate. How do you do it, by the way?” he asked, pinning her with intense, hazel eyes.

“What?” she asked, startled.

Fred smirked at her, rolling his eyes. “How do you tell us apart?” he asked mockingly.

Hermione blinked, taken aback. “Well,” she ventured, biting her lip, “you’ve a different walk than George. He’s better posture. Your voice is a bit deeper than his, and you’ve a scar just there,” she concluded pointing to his eyebrow.

Touching the small white scar that cut through his left eyebrow, Fred breathed a laugh, eyeing her appreciatively. “Noticed that, did you?”

For the first time since he met her at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Hermione’s lips curled up in a genuine smiled. “There’s a story there, I take it?” she asked.

“There is,” he nodded, clasping his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.” He grinned, watching her out of his peripheral vision.

When she grinned back at him slyly, Fred felt something flutter deep in his belly and he quickly looked away. 

“A friend would tell me now,” she said, looking at him through her lashes and bumping his shoulder with hers as he’d done before. The contact made him feel inexplicably warm.

Ignoring the feeling, Fred smiled approvingly. “Seems there’s hope for you yet, Granger. Alright, you asked for it. Best settle in.”

Hermione obligingly pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around and resting her head there as she watched him expectantly.

“Well, you see, Miss. Granger,” Fred began, his tone hautey in a way very much like Percy’s, “there have been occasions - very rare occasions, mind - but occasions none the less, when dear Georgie-boy and I have not seen entirely eye-to-eye.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in false innocence. “I can’t even imagine,” she breathed, playing her part.

“Yes, and why would you?” Fred scoffed, tossing back his hair in a suspiciously practiced move. “Thick as thieves George and I are.”

“Well, if that isn’t horrifyingly accurate.” Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Now, now. No need to be nasty or tarnish our shining reputations. Besides,” he said, dropping the pretentious air, “we only nick things of little to no consequence.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him suspiciously. “Like that map you gave Harry?”

Stiffening, Fred cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Haven’t the foggiest what you mean, Hermione-dearest. Besides,” he said, he voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “brand new secret best friends don’t judge other brand new secret best friends.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, letting her gaze fall to her lap. “Secret. Right.”

Frowning, Fred bumped her shoulder again with his, a move that seemed able to pull a smile from her, not matter how small. “Only secret for the moment, Granger. Would you want me to go yell our new status off the Astronomy Tower? Bloke’s likely to slip and fall over the edge in this weather.”

Hermione went ridged beside him, her chin dropping to her chest so her hair hid her expression.

Leaning in until his face was near her ear, Fred whispered, “You’d rescue me, though, wouldn’t you, Granger?” His hand came up then, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Because friends rescue friends, secret or no.”

Flushing hotly, Hermione nodded as if to herself, swiping at a stray tear. She looked up at him then, their faces so close her pert nose brushed his longer one. She pulled back slightly, blushing brighter, blinking hard as her gaze fell briefly to his mouth before returning to his intense hazel eyes. “Friends?” she asked wetly. “They rescue each other from anything?”

Fred nodded slowly, his eyes boring into hers. 

Hermione blinked, her gaze dropping to the side in embarrassment. “Even from themselves?” she whispered, grimacing.

The hand on her back came up around her shoulders, pulling her into hollow at the juncture of his neck. Fred felt her nose brush his collarbone. 

“Especially from themselves,” he rumbled into her hair. 

That sat like that in silence for long moments before Fred spoke.

“He threw a book at me.”

Pulling back from him, Hermione stared at him as if he’d gone barmy. “Excuse me?”

Laughing quietly, Fred rubbed at the small, white, nearly invisible scar running through his left eyebrow. “George. He threw a book at me. That’s how I got the scar. We were seven.”

Small, tentative fingers reached out and brushed at the thin white line gently. Hermione blinked at him, startled, her cheeks flushing noticeably pink even in the dimming light of the stairwell. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Why?”

Fred snorted, ruffling her hair affectionately in a manner he used with Ginny. “You know, I don’t even remember. Bill was watching all of us while mum took Ginny to the healer for something or other. I likely said or did something to upset him, probably several somethings in rapid succession, and he picked up dad’s book on muggle automobiles. The corner caught me. Bled worse than a stuck hippogriff. Georgie cried harder than I did once he realized I was hurt. Glued himself to me the rest of the day.” Fred’s eyes were glazed as he stared off into the distance, small smile on his lips. He shook his bright, messy head before grinning at her. “We never much fought after that.”

“Never?” she said incredulously, skepticism lining her every feature.

Fred shrugged. “Well, we’ve had disagreements, yeah. Hell, we’ve even thrown a few punches, but that’s just brotherly love stuff.”

Reeling back, she eyed him horrified. “Punching doesn’t count as fighting?”

“It isn’t as though they’re malicious, most of the time,” he said the last under his breath. “Just a tool to prove a point. Think of them more like punctuation.” Fred punched her shoulder softly with his fist by way of demonstration.

Shaking her head in barely concealed disgust, Hermione scoffed. “Boys are barbaric,” she muttered. 

He smirked, waggling his orange eyebrows at her leeringly. “Better get used to it brand new secret best friend!” Fred punched her lightly again, laughing as he jumping up and away when she swatted at him.

Face still split in a grin, he held his hands up to her placatingly. “Alright, alright,” he said soothingly before gingerly lowering himself down next to her once more. “So who are we telling about our brand new secret best friend status then, Granger? Harry, Ron, George, and Lee? All of Gryffindor Common Room? Maybe jump up on the table at dinner in the Great Hall?”

Hermione stiffened, shaking her head emphatically. “No one.”

Surprise and hurt warred across his face. Fred sat up and back, his posture becoming much more formal as he frowned. 

“You ashamed of me, Granger?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning her for a silent confession.

Her face showed nothing but shock. “No!” she cried so emphatically, Fred felt himself relax. She reached for him, grasping his hands in an attempt to placate him. “I could never be ashamed of you Fred,” she said sincerely.

Fred watched her fingers wrapped around his a long moment before a wicked smile crept across his face. “Never, you say?”

Tensing once again, Hermione eyed him warily. “Fred?” she question, dragging out his name in her confused concern.

Smiling at her in what didn’t even come close to a reassuring way, he bumped her shoulder with his. His smile dimmed. “What if I promised to only tell George?” he asked.

Her face blazed a vicious red. She released his hands only to drag her mittens through her already crazed hair. Knees bouncing in agitation, Hermione whimpered. 

Startled realization dawned on his face. “You’re embarrassed.” It wasn’t a question.

Her head snapped up, wide brown eyes locking on hazel. “Not of you,” she defended.

Fred snorted, ignoring her startled squeak when he pulled her into a hug. “No,” he agreed. “Not of me.”

When it came, her pleading voice was muffled in the folds of his cloak. “No George?” 

Wincing hard, Fred sighed. He ran his free hand across his forehead before nodding slowly. “No George,” he agreed apprehensively. Gripping her shoulders suddenly, he pushed her back so he could scrutinize her face. “But in exchange, you have to swear on, on,” he dropped her gaze to glance around frantically for inspiration. Suddenly, grinning triumphantly, his eyes snapped back onto her expectant, frightened face. “You have to swear on Harry bloody Potter. If you ever feel like, like you need rescued.” He nodded at her to be sure she caught his meaning. “If you need rescued, you have to swear you’ll come talk to me. No matter what I’m doing or who I’m with.”

The corners of her lips twitching, Hermione peeked up at him through her lashes. “No matter what?” she asked, her voice a mask of innocence.

Nodding decisively, Fred muttered his assent.

“No matter who?”

Again he nodded.

Hermione pursed her lips. “But what if you’re in detention with Professor Snape?”

Snorting in derision, he nodded once more. “Absolutely if I’m with Snape. Any distraction you can think of will do.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Fred smirked to himself imagining the likely future prefect causing Professor Snape any sort of distraction. Suddenly, Fred felt his stomach erupt in flutters when she turned wide shining eyes on him. “What,” she asked, her voice an embarrassed whisper. “What if you’re engaged,” she winced as if the thought caused her distress.

He scowled at her in confusion. “Engaged?”

Hermione nodded, her expression clouded. “Yes. With some, some girl?”

Fred nearly gagged, yanking his hands back as if she’d burned him. He stared at her in quiet horror before his face pinched with suspicion. He leaned in, eyeing her intently. “Do you mean shagging?”

Her features gave way to shock as she blanched, her eyes widened comically, and her mouth dropped open. Hermione slapped his arm in indignation. “Fred Weasley! I most certainly did not mean,” she glanced around her as if searching for an unexpected audience. “Shagging,” she whispered, her eyes studiously avoiding his as her cheeks blazed redder than his hair.

Fred laughed then, great loud guffaws with tears streaming down his cheeks. He reeled back, long arms gripping his sides. Her back ramrod straight, Hermione sat there, arms crossed, scowling at him, valiantly smothering any twitch of a smirk that appeared on her lips.

“Honestly,” she chastised him, rolling her eyes as his laughter finally subsided.

Brushing away his tears and sighing after a few last chuckles, Fred finally risked a glance at her pursed face. He cleared his throat, voice taking on a serious tone even as his eyes swam with mirth. “Well,” he began slowly, swallowing a giggle. “If I do ever find myself engaged, as you so eloquently put it, Granger, then I think I’m going to have to request you find George.” 

A snort of laughter escaped him when she swatted his arm. 

Clearing his throat noisily, he fought his smirk. “No, I really am going to have to insist. Just speak to him as if he’s me. He’ll play along, guaranteed.”

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes. “You two really are quite horrid.” 

“Oh, do go on, Granger,” Fred coaxed, batting his lashes at her. She groaned again, hiding her face in her hands. Chuckling, Fred stood, turning back to offer her a hand up.

“Speaking of my devilishly good looking, identical twin brother, he and Lee are probably wondering if Filch’s caught me yet.”

Hermione eyed him sharply. “Filch?” she asked shrilly. “Why would Filch be looking for you?”

Reaching a hand for the Astronomy Tower door, Fred grinned around the long finger he pressed to his lips, shushing her. He winked once at her before pushing the door open to the swirling winds.

Hunching her shoulders against the cold, Hermione turned to head down the tower steps. She paused when he called out to her. “No matter what, Granger.” And the door clicked shut.

-oOo-

Hermione has just reached the bottom of the Astronomy Tower steps, her head bent in silent contemplation when her name echoed off the gray stone walls.

“Granger!” George called, running up to her with a slightly apprehensive looking Lee right behind him. “Where you just up the Astronomy Tower?” he asked earnestly, gripping her shoulders as if she might duck away.

Paling momentarily at being caught, Hermione’s brain spit out the only answer it could fathom. “Yes.”

George made an admirable attempt to hid his grimace. “Didn’t see Fred up there by chance, did you?”

Hermione blinked at him a moment. “We, uh, we just passed. On the stairs,” she added dumbly, dropping her eyes as her cheeks flamed.

Both George and Lee seemed to sag in relief. “Brilliant,” George breathed, releasing her shoulders and turning toward the tower stairs. “Well, see you Granger,” he tossed over his shoulder, Lee sending her a cocky wave as both boys raced up the spiraling stairs.

Squeezing her eyes tight in silent beratement, Hermione groaned. She really needed to work on thinking up excuses quickly. Letting out a deep sigh, she shook her curly head before continuing her trek back to Gryffindor Common Room.


	2. You're Only Young Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during GoF. Hermione Granger fumes in the entrance hall after a row with her best friend, Ron. Fred Weasley stumbles upon her, frustrated with his own problems. Hermione learns a secret about the twins and Fred convinces Hermione to be brave.

Sounds of music, shouting, and laughter filtered out of the large, open oak doors of the Great Hall. The Yule Ball was still in full swing, much to the disgust of Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley, as if he had all the right in the world, had just accused her ( _her!_ ) of abandoning him and Harry for the Bulgarian Quidditch star, just because she’d agreed to be Krum’s date. As if Ron had any claim to her at all just because they were friends, just because he’d asked her at the last minute, as a bloody last resort, to be his _own_ date to the ball. No. Hermione knew, with her typically bushy brown hair, slight figure, and studious nature, she wasn’t usually the prettiest girl in the room, knew she didn’t really hold a candle to girls like Lavender or Parvati or even Ginny, but she was most certainly not going to be anyone’s last resort, especially not Ronald bloody Weasley. She might not be stunningly beautiful, or generally care _that_ much about her looks, but she certainly had a healthy dose of _self-respect_. 

Grinding her teeth, Hermione sat heavily upon the Grand Staircase. She dropped her perfectly coiffed head into her hands, wavering between crying in hurt and frustration, and seething in self-righteous fury at the ginger-haired menace. She had just finished another bout of crying, and was angrily swiping at her traitorous tears, while mentally categorizing the most humiliating hexes she knew versus how much trouble she might get in for inflicting them upon another student, when the sound of a throat clearing caused her head to snap up in alarm.

Standing several steps below her, looking purposefully disheveled with his hands shoved deep into pockets, tie unknotted, and shirt untucked, was Fred Weasley, older brother to Undesirable Number One, and her secret confidant. Hermione’s red-rimmed brown eyes widened in surprise.

“Fred!” she said forcibly cheerful, plastering on an obviously fake smile. She glanced around a moment, her smile drooping. “Where’s Angelina?”

Fred snorted, rolling his eyes. “Off snogging George behind some tapestry, I suspect,” he said, climbing the last few stairs that separated them and plopping down beside her. He tossed his head, effectively removing a lock of orange hair from in front of his hazel eyes, before leveling those same eyes on her expectantly.

Hermione stared back at him, confusion written plainly on her face. “But I thought she was your date?” she asked slowly, uncertainly, worried how she’d managed to mess that up. 

Fred snorted again, his gaze dropping to his clasped hands resting between his knees. “She is. Well, I mean, I asked her,” he confirmed with a nod of his head. He looked back to her, his expression guarded. “But George and me, we switched.”

Hermione blinked hard, her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“Now, now, Granger. What’s with the judgy tone?” Fred rubbed awkwardly at the red flush on the back of his neck. Dropping his hand, he sighed. “Well, as it so happens, George was a might bit upset about me asking Angelina to the ball. Turns out he fancies her, too.”

Hermione looked at him appalled. “So you’re _sharing_ her? Does she know?”

Fred laughed humorlessly. “I think she suspects,” he muttered. Catching Hermione’s furious glare, he held up his hands placatingly. “Easy there, Granger. And we’re not sharing. Not the way you’re imagining at any rate,” he mumbled the last.

Her eyes narrowed threateningly, her hand inching toward her wand.

Fred bristled, sneering at her. “What sort of depraved git do you take me for? It isn’t like I bloody well engaged her and then passed her on over. I escorted her, we danced a few times, then George and I switched. Honest. It was as innocent as that.”

Anger abating, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. Critical brown eyes scanned his face for any sign of duplicity and, finding none, softened. “So it isn’t just some prank.”

It wasn’t a question but Fred shook his head anyway, a frown deepening across his freckled face. 

Unaccustomed to seeing Fred in such a state, she took a moment to study him. He sat stiffly next to her, elbows on his bouncing knees, jaw set in a tense line. Hermione hesitated only a moment before leaning over and bumped shoulders with him. Warmth bloomed in her chest when a small, reluctant smile crept on his face at the contact. An answering smile graced her painted lips before falling into a concerned scowl. “I still don’t understand why.”

Frown returning, Fred scrubbed his face with his hands. A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” he muttered.

Indignation chased the flash of hurt across her face. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked in a huff, crossing her arms and leaning away from him as if he might bite.

Fred snorted, rolling his eyes. “It means I didn’t like Ange near enough to cause a problem with George. She wasn’t worth it for me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_. Besides, I’m fairly certain Ange thought I was George when she said yes.” A genuine smirk played at his lips then and he shot her an amused sideways glance. “Can you believe that, Granger? Someone mixing up me and George?”

“Can’t fathom the possibility,” she said, lips quirked in a suppressed grin.

“Right?! It’s not as if we’re _completely_ identical. I mean, obviously, my favorite color is green while Georgie-boy prefers blue.” Fred sighed heavily, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I could have sworn everyone knew that,” he muttered.

Eyes dancing, Hermione bit her lip to smother a giggle. “Really, Fred? Green? How very Slytherin of you.”

Fred blinked at her, stunned, before breaking into a devious grin. “Oh no. You get that blasphemy right out of your head, Granger. I do not like Slytherin green.” He shuddered to prove his point.

“You said green,” she sniffed haughtily, tossing her lightly freckled nose in the air. “I only made the logical conclusion.”

Fred smirked. “Logical? Hardly. How can a fine, upstanding Gryffindor such as myself enjoy Slytherin green? Too reptilian. Do you even use that brain of yours, Granger?” He smiled warmly at her then to soften the sting before throwing his hand out in a wide arch in front of them as if to paint a scene. 

“Imagine, if you will, the snows have finally melted. New spring grass, wet with freshly fallen rain, dance in a gentle breeze. The sun is finally warm enough to fight off the winter chill that still clings to the shadows.” Fred shook his head at her as if disappointed. “How’s that for Slytherin,” he mumbled to himself.

Hermione blinked away her surprise, a smile slowly bloomed across her face. “That’s quite poetic, Fred. And here I was convinced your favorite color would be something like magenta.”

“Magenta?” he asked skeptically.

Hermione tossed her head, feigning disdain at his ignorance. “Of course, magenta. It would clash riotously with your hair,” at this she reached out with a grin and ruffled his long locks. “Thus making it bold, loud, and utterly obnoxious. Quite similar to a Weasley twin,” she said eyeing him playfully.

He chuckled lightly, running a large hand through his hair. “Now there’s an idea, Granger,” he murmured. 

Smiling to herself, Hermione bit her lip and contemplated him earnestly. Fred stared down the steps toward the front doors, his gaze flickering from painting to painting but never really seeing. She could tell he was deep in thought, his slightly pursed lips and squinting eyes signs she was slowly beginning to pick up on as their friendship grew. Hermione felt delightfully warm from their playful banter, similar to how she felt walking into the Great Hall at the start of the evening on Viktor Krum’s arm, but without the nearly overpowering nerves that had plagued her most of the day. Her earlier disappointment and fury at the youngest male Weasley was temporarily forgotten. 

The comfortable silence between the two companions lasted for long moments before Fred’s face grew sad.

“Is that how you see us, Granger?”

Hermione had drifted off in her own thoughts and was slightly startled to hear his voice. She turned to contemplate him, confused.

Scratching at the back of his neck in a sure sign of discomfort, Fred fidgeted next to her. “George and me? Is that how you see us? Loud and utterly obnoxious?”

She blinked in surprise. “No. Not at all, Fred,” she said earnestly. She placed a delicate hand on his forearm and watched as the tips of Fred’s ears turned pink. Hermione blushed at his curious reaction before continuing. 

“I do think that’s how you want people to see you. Not your friends, mind.” She smiled shyly at him. “But others.”

Fred grinned roguishly then and winked at her, chuckling when she felt her cheeks turn hot once more. “Brand new secret best friends, you mean?”

She rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide her discomfort. “Those, too,” she agreed. Anxious, Hermione pulled her hand back from his arm, resting it in her lap. Her gaze dropped to her twined fingers, barely noticing the small frown that played across Fred’s face.

“You and George, you put on a front for the world, Fred.” Hermione could feel him watching her intently as she continued to speak. 

“Thick as thieves, remember?” Her eyes locked on his a moment before dropping. “Always laughing, always outgoing, always causing mischief. No room for sorrow or embarrassment or fear,” she said, her voice longing. “Not everyone is willing to dig deeper than the facade. Not everyone is brave enough.”

Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as his face turned as red as his hair. Fred dragged a hand through his hair, huffing a sigh. He winced. Then, slowly, he leaned over and bumped his shoulder to her bare one. She smiled secretly to herself, a gentle flutter beginning to tickle in her stomach.

Then Fred spoke.

“What are you doing out here, Hermione? Don’t you have some hot Bulgarian superstar waiting to sweep you off your feet?”

Hermione groaned, her face growing hard. The happy flutter turned to gravel in her gut as forgotten anger swarmed her chest and unshed tears filled her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists and she shot a pointed look at Fred. 

“I’m here,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “because your great git of a brother couldn’t find himself a date and felt it best to ruin everyone else’s good time.” 

She sighed heavily, deflating as the anger left her in a whoosh of breath. Turning to him suddenly, she anxiously grasped his calloused hands in her smaller ones. “You don’t think I’m ‘consorting with the enemy’ by going with Viktor, do you, Fred?” she nearly whined in her worry.

His eyes widened comically in surprise before barking a laugh. “Is that what he said? ‘Consorting with the enemy?’ What does he think you’re doing?”

Hermione scowled, the gravel feeling growing heavier. “Giving away secret strategies to help Viktor win the Tournament. As if I’ve not spent every spare minute trying Harry,” she spat bitterly.

The swirling emotions clutching at insides quieted when Fred pulled her into a sideways hug and smiled warmly down at her. “Kinda hard to reveal secret strategies with the language barrier and all, innit?” He paused a beat, grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “And all the snogging, of course.”

Hermione blanched before her face erupted with heat. Fred laughed heartily, hugging his stomach and leaning away as she swatted at him. 

“It isn’t like that, Fred Weasley,” she insisted, hiding her face in her hands.

Laughing once more, he pushed her shoulder. “Why the bloody hell not, Granger? He’s a strapping young lad, and famous to boot. And you. Well,” he eyed her appreciatively. “You look quite stunning,” he said, his voice reverent. Fred coughed then, his cheeks flushed, and cleared his throat. “And you’re only young once, Granger,” he said much more gruffly. 

A painful stab of humiliation sliced through her. How was it he could make fun of her now of all times? 

“Fred,” she admonished, glaring. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively, turning away from him on the narrow step.

“I mean it, Hermione,” he said slowly, sincerely. Strong fingers gripped her elbow, turning her back to face his earnest face. “You look quite fetching this evening. Just about every bird in that hall was seething with jealousy. Quite amusing actually.” He smirked then though his hazel eyes remained cautious.

Hermione squirmed. She stood abruptly, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress and studiously avoiding his gaze. “Viktor is probably looking for me,” she said, wincing at how tight her voice sounded even to her own ears.

“Right,” he said, moving slowly to stand next to her. A hand reached up to brush her shoulder before dropping back down.

“Good night, Fred,” she said, her words clipped, still refusing to turn and look at him properly. Grasping her skirt to avoid tripping, Hermione didn’t wait for his reply before speeding off down the stairs.

“I meant it, Hermione.” His voice rang down the stairs and she stopped, squeezing her eyes shut at the confusing emotions. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione slowly turned, her eyes immediately finding his. 

Fred’s smile was sad. “Krum’s a lucky bloke,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “Ignore anything my brother tells you. You and I both know he’s a prat. And don’t forget,” he added with a wink, “You’re only young once, Granger.” 

Hermione watched as he turned and slowly made his way up the stairs and out of sight. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, feet frozen to the step, eyes locked where she last saw him, before she registered another presence behind her.

“Hermy-own-ninny?” a deep, thickly accented voice asked. Warm, gentle pressure encased her elbow. “You come back to ball now, dah?”

She turned, drinking in dark, questioning eyes beneath a scowling brow. Hermione smiled, gentle warmth growing in her chest when Viktor returned it. Surprising them both, Hermione leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his thick neck, and brushed her full lips against his thin ones. Viktor hesitated only a moment before she felt strong arms pressing her to his wide chest as he returned her kiss with enthusiasm. 

Hermione pulled away, breathless, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. Viktor’s hands gripped her waist, his eyes swimming with intense emotion. 

“Dance with me, Viktor?” she asked, her voice shaky. 

Ever the silent type, Viktor only nodded as he released her waist to grasp her hand instead. A nervous laugh bubbled out of her chest when his fingers threaded through hers and he led her down the remaining stairs, across the hall, and back through the doors to the dance.


	3. Hate Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during GoF. Fred Weasley waits up late for Hermione Granger to come back to the common room.

The low-burning fire in the nearly abandoned Gryffindor common room sputtered before igniting and quickly consuming the small paper bird. Fred Weasley scowled into the fire, his broad form sprawled inelegantly across the worn, red sofa as his right foot bouncing in agitation. Hardly noticing the brief flare of light, he lazily flicked his wand yet again, sending another conjured paper bird to it’s fiery death. 

Where could she be? Curfew had been hours ago; the common room nearly emptied not long after. George, Fred’s identical twin brother, and Lee, their best mate, had finally called it a night nearly twenty minutes prior, no longer willing to subject themselves to Fred’s inexplicably foul mood nor his steadfast refusal to explain what or who it was they were waiting up to see. 

In truth, Fred was waiting up for Hermione Granger, his little brother’s best mate and his secret confidant - something she was adamant he not tell George. After finding her the year before, lonely and lost, atop the Astronomy Tower, Fred and Hermione had stuck up an unusual friendship. After tearfully confessing herself humiliated at the state he’d found her, Hermione had made Fred swear he wouldn’t tell anyone, especially George, about their friendship for fear they’d be forced to admit how it all came about. So now, whenever they were surrounded by their friends and classmates, they acted as mere acquaintances with barely a wave or nod of acknowledgement in the halls. But when they were alone, which was only on occasion, they often pestered one another light-heartedly, bickering playfully and buoying one anothers spirits. Fred had never really confronted Hermione about what happened the night he stumbled upon her standing at the open edge of the tallest tower, but he’d taken it to heart to ensure she never felt that helpless again. 

It was this reason he found himself awake and impatiently waiting at one in the bloody morning on a Tuesday no less. That morning, he - along with nearly all the rest of the school - had read the Rita Skeeter article in the _Daily Prophet_ accusing Hermione of stringing along not only Quidditch wonder seeker, Viktor Krum, but the Chosen One himself, Harry Potter. Not long after, Hermione had all but disappeared. The not-so-secret whispers about his favorite fourth year had been rampant, varied, and egregious. Fred had over heard Harry at lunch telling his little sister, Ginny, that Hermione had been sent a curse at breakfast via owl post because of the article, and had spent her morning in the hospital wing. Now, Fred sat up waiting, having just missed her at dinner and needing to confirm for himself that she was indeed alright. Except, the longer he waited, the worse his agitation grew.

Fred was beyond exhausted. He and George has spent the last several nights up far later than was prudent planning and plotting new ways to raise money for their joke shop since that dodgy prat, Ludo Bagman, had cheated them out of their winnings from the Quidditch World Cup. The distinct lack of startup capital, something he and George desperately needed, was, for the first time ever, causing Fred to doubt the likelihood of achieving the only real goal he and George had ever had. With nothing for company but his thoughts, Fred’s anger at the situation simmered and flared in his chest only to then meld violently with the cold cramp of worry he felt deep in his stomach for Hermione. He had just decided to go out looking for her when the sound of the portrait hole opening drew his attention.

Peeking up over the back of the sofa, Fred saw nothing as the portrait door seemed to close by itself. Then suddenly, as if conjured out of thin air, Hermione appeared, her normally bushy hair ruffled and tangled in an angry mane around her delicately scowling face. Fred’s eyebrows raised in contemplation at her use of Potter’s not-quite-secret Invisibility Cloak. He wasn’t aware Harry was willing to loan the cloak out to others. Possibilities, targets, and hastily laid plans raced through Fred’s conniving mind. Perhaps Harry could be sweet talked into letting him and George use it for some prank or another.

Agitated growling brought his thoughts back to the present. Hermione was awkwardly shoving the translucent material into her bag, her scowl growing as she prattled on to herself in annoyance. He studied her appraisingly, noting no obvious signs of injury, and felt the squirming knot of turmoil from moments before easing.

Smirking for the first time hours, Fred eyed her steadily from his semi-hidden spot on the sofa. “You know,” he stated loudly, grinning all the wider when she shrieked and whirled toward him. “When I told you ‘you’re only young once,’ I didn’t mean for you to have at Krum Cake and the Boy Wonder.”

Hermione stared at him with wide eyed trepidation, panting and pressing a hand to her chest. Then she sagged. Hanging her head and groaning, she shuffling forward. “Not you, too, Fred.”

Cocking an orange eyebrow, he pushed himself upright on the sofa, allowing her to slump in the vacated seat. An evil grin spread across his freckled face. He grasped her arm, shaking her lightly. 

“So who’s the better kisser?” he gushed girlishly, pulling his long legs into his chest and eyeing her exaggeratedly. “My money’s on Cookie Krum, seeing how he likely to have the most experience, being older and all.” Fred pursed his lips and sighed. “But then I guess you never do know with those strong, silent types.”

Pulling her face out of her hands, Hermione branded him a long-suffering glare. “I have not been, nor will I ever be, in a _romantic_ relationship with Harry,” she groused. “Honestly, Fred! It would be like you snogging Ginny.”

Fred blanched and gagged, leaning away from her is if she were contagious. Mouth set in revulsion, he eyed her scathingly. “That was uncalled for, Granger.”

She snorted. “Going to send me hate mail, too, then, Weasley?” she sneered and waved her bandaged hands at him.

All humor drained from him in an instant. The buried embers of his earlier anger blazed suddenly with renewed vigor. Unfolding himself from the couch, he took one bandaged hand gently between his own, the hard scowl on his face belying the tenderness of his actions. “Heard Harry mention this earlier. Undiluted bubotube pus?”

Hermione nodded, worrying at her full, soft, pink lip. Fred watched her mouth intently a moment before blinking and dropping his gaze when he noticed the soft flush that dusted her cheeks. He cleared his throat. 

“Nasty stuff. George spilt it on his arm once when we were experimenting in Potions.”

Gently extracting her bandaged hand from his, Hermione dropped it to her lap, wincing slightly. “Yes, well, apparently, I’m just a slag who isn’t good enough to inhabit the wizarding world, let alone be involved with Viktor or Harry.” Her head was down, her expression bitter. The anger in Fred’s chest seared even as invisible bands constricted.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and clucking her under the chin. “You don’t actually believe that bollocks, do you?”

Hermione’s eyes widened indignantly. “Of course not!” she screeched.

Fred frowned at her, unconvinced. “Then why’ve you been hiding all day?” he accused.

Surprise flitted across her face before she quickly schooled her features. “I’ve not been hiding,” she defended without conviction.

“Then where’ve you been all bloody night?” he griped, rolling his eyes. “Curfew was hours ago.” A thought struck him then and Fred suddenly straightened. He turned to her stiffly, sharp hazel eyes narrowed, and scrutinized her avidly. 

“You haven’t been with Krum all this time, have you?” The accusation sounded harsh even to his own ears and Fred cringed. 

Her face pinched, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “You sound just like Ron,” she admonished. “As if it were any of your business, _Fred Weasley_ \- ” 

“Gideon,” Fred blurted, cutting off her rant.

She was silent for several long seconds. “What?”

“Gideon. My middle name is Gideon.”

Hermione blinked at him in confusion before narrowing her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

A large hand massaged across his forehead. Fred huffed a humorless laugh. “Well, seeing how I’m being an enormous prat, I thought you might like to curse my name properly.”

“You want me to curse you?” she asked slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

Fred really did laugh this time. “Not particularly. I’d much rather you forgave me and let me off without so much as a warning,” he confessed, smirking. He gaze grew sincere. “But after what’s happened to you today and what I just said, seems you’ve earned the right.”

Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before she sighed. Hermione dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head in exasperation. Fred was relieved to see the corners of her lips curled up in a bemused smile. 

“I don’t want to curse you, Fred,” she said finally, her voice betraying her fatigue. 

Running hand through his shaggy hair, Fred grimaced. “Sorry I was a prat, Granger.” He snorted, shaking his head at himself. “Bloody hell, woman. The whole reason I stayed up late was to make sure you were okay.”

His stomach rolled in a decidedly pleasant way when her cheeks lit up as red as his hair. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Fred,” she whispered, picking awkwardly at her bandaged fingers.

Fred flushed then, too. “Yeah, well - ”

“But I’m glad you did,” she cut in; her rich, chocolate eyes pinned his intently.

Warm tendrils of satisfaction curled invitingly through his chest. Fred found himself unwittingly preening under her praise before silently berating himself. He cleared his throat gruffly.

“Any time, Granger.”

A wide smile lit her face and Fred was struck with just how pretty she looked. He blinked in surprise. 

Hermione stood then, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning. 

“So, Gideon?” she asked, eyeing him speculatively.

Stretching and twisting to relieve the ache that had settled in his back from the long wait, Fred snorted in amusement. “Yup, and George’s is Fabian. Named after mum’s twin brothers.”

“Right,” she murmured, bending to pick up her bag. Hermione stepped forward and hugged him then. He stiffened slightly in her arms before relaxing into her embrace, his long arms wrapping securely around her waist. Fred gasped when he felt her lips brush upon his cheek. Dropping her arms, she pulled back to consider him sternly.

“You know I’ll be owling your mum for confirmation before using either of those names?” she asked, shaking a disapproving finger at him.

Fred smiled softly before reaching out and brushing a finger across her cheek. “Night, Granger,” he said, nodding.

“Goodnight, Fred,” she whispered. Fred watched as she turned and slowly ascended the stairs to the girls dormitory. He rasped a tired hand over the meager stubble of his chin before shaking himself out of his stupor. Casting one last glance toward the girl’s staircase, Fred touched his cheek where she’d kissed him and frowned. It shouldn’t mean anything, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything. Reassured, Fred trudged up his own set of stairs and off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on [tumblr](http://thrsdynxt.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Annoying Swot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during OotP. George Weasley confronts Fred about his relationship with Hermione. Fred, frustrated he has to continue to hide things from George, gets into an argument with Hermione. Sirius weights in.

Christmas breakfast at 12 Grimmauld Place had been strained. Mrs.Weasley had tried, without much success, to hold back tears since her estranged son, Percy, had felt it necessary to return his Christmas sweater unopened. The other attending children, including the twins, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, had finished quickly and in relative silence before each darting off to various locations throughout the obnoxiously decorated estate.

And that is why Fred found Hermione holed up in the front sitting room, slouched down on the wide, black sofa in an attempt to avoid detection, one of the several books she’d received for Christmas open on her lap. He smirked, plopping down heavily next to her. 

“You’re getting better at these, you know,” he declared shaking the spring green mass of knitted yarn Hermione had given him as a Christmas present. “I mean, you’re no Molly Weasley, but this is an almost passable nappy.”

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed in annoyance and her lips pursed. Hermione didn’t even lift her gaze from where it was focused on the words in front of her to swat him on the arm. “Git.”

Just then George used his long legs to step over the back of the couch to sit at her other side. “Hey, thanks for the nappy, Granger,” he said with a wink.

Hermione groaned, rolled her eyes, and, slouching down even deeper, lifted her book to block out both twins. 

Grin plastered to his lips but no further, George’s eyes snapped up and held Fred’s in challenge. “Funny thing, though, Granger, but how did you know mine and Freddie’s favorite colors?”

Fred’s stomach clenched, though he held his own grin firmly in place. He’d known George had been growing more suspicious of his occasional unexplained absences and the not-so-occasional brush offs about what exactly it was Fred seemed to be glancing around distractedly to find. The last several weeks, his questions had gotten more and more pointed until, in a very rare spat between the brothers, George had declared he was going to make Fred regret hiding something from him. That has been eleven days ago and Fred had hoped without any real optimism that George would drop it. But here was George, telling him subtly and silently, yet in no uncertain terms, that his current line of questioning was merely a means to confirm what he already suspected. 

Hermione’s cheeks flamed. “Lucky guess,” she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably between the red-headed twins. George’s grin grew and he subtly pressed the line of his arm against hers in what Fred knew was a blatant attempt to fluster the poor girl.

Hoping to wrestle control of the conversation from George, Fred pretended to play along, throwing a protective arm around Hermione’s narrow shoulders in a way he knew his twin would read as sign to back off. 

“Or maybe,” Fred began, smirk mirroring George’s, “you’ve been secretly stalking us, Granger.”

“Sneaking about our rooms,” George added, pointedly pressing closer against Hermione in silent rebuttal. 

“Sorting through our unmentionables.” Fred noted the subtle flinch of George’s shoulders, the only outward indicator of a laugh. He hoped the dip into more risque teasing would head George off. Fred could feel the embarrassed flush radiating off the girl beside him.

No such luck. George’s eyes flashed in defiance, his grin notching wickedly. “You didn’t happen to come across Fred’s collection of muggle pornography, did you, Granger?” he asked, not even pretending to watch for Hermione’s reaction as he gloated to Fred in mute triumph.

“Enough!” Hermione screeched, struggling mightily to remove herself from their grasps. Book falling to the floor, she stood and rounded on them. Her cheeks flushed red, hair a disheveled mess. “You two are deplorable,” she seethed fixing them each with her impressive glare.

Grinning unapologetically, George batted his lashes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione dear.”

“Honestly!” Hermione huffed, completely unaware of the George’s true intentions, and crossed her arms over her chest in clear annoyance. “If you don’t want your bloody scarves, just give them back!”

“Nonsense!” Fred cried indignantly, clutching his scarf to his chest.

George gaped at her, appalled. “We never said we didn’t _want_ them!” He wrapped the deep blue scarf tightly around his neck before muttering to himself about ‘touchy birds,’ and flouncing away.

Slumping back into her seat, Hermione glared at Fred. “You really are a prat.”

Fred offered her a weak smile, groaning inwardly. It would have been better in George’s eyes if she’d marched off in a right fit. “Wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion,” he said sarcastically. 

Hermione snorted, patted his knee, and stood. Her arms came over her head, stretching back with a groan, and revealing a sliver of skin along her stomach that Fred studiously avoided glancing at, feeling George’s eyes burning into him from across the room. 

“Right,” Hermione said with a nod. “I’m off to the library.” 

Fred rolled his eyes as she moved deeper into the house. She had barely left the room before George flung himself down into her vacated seat. He turned to Fred, eyeing him expectantly.

Growling in annoyance, Fred shot him a glare. “Dammit, George, what?”

“Favorite colors, Fred. _Exact_ favorite colors. Care to tell me, brother dearest, how Miss Swot just happened upon this information?”

Fred forced a smirk and waggled his eyebrows at his twin. “Perhaps she truly does want in your knickers, George.”

A vicious grin spread slowly across George’s face, taking the attempted redirect as on par with a full admission. “And what bird wouldn’t, me being the much more handsome twin and all. But cut the shite, Fred. It’s more than that. Did you know she called me by my name the last time she lit into me about testing on little firsties? My _whole_ name.”

“Oh no, Forge! Not your name!”

George scowled. “Bugger off, prat.” He leaning into Fred, squinting up as if studying him for subtle clues. “What I just don’t understand, Fred, is she stayed. Normally that sort of colorful commentary would have sent her off in a fit a tears, but Miss Swot powered through it all with nothing more than a half-hearted scowl and an affectionate pat to the knee. Seems awfully dodgy, if you ask me.”

Agitated, Fred ran a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know, George. Did you ever consider she asked Ginny? They seem to be quite friendly.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t really explain why you and Miss Swot seem on the verge of picking out floral patterns together. And don’t deny it, Fred, I’m not the only one to have noticed. Lee’s got the same suspicions I have.”

Fred shot up off the couch in frustration and began pacing. “It’s not like that, George.”

“No,” he agreed, leaning back into the sofa, his hands behind his head. George smirked. “But you want it to be.”

Freezing in mid-step, Fred stared at him incredulously. “You’re barmy.”

George snorted. “Hardly. But whatever _this_ is, brother dearest, it needs to stop. You do know Ronnikins seems to have some shoddily hidden feelings for her?”

Fred nodded distractedly. “Course I do. Bloody hell, George, the only one who doesn’t seem to know is Ron.” He sighed heavily before pinning his twin with a earnest gaze. “Whatever you and Lee have convinced yourselves this is, you’re wrong.”

George considered him for long moments, deeper understanding burning in his eyes before nodding once. Fred winced but accepted the silent dismissal of the argument. Anxious and frustrated from the confrontation, Fred left the sitting room, shuffling through the house with no conscious destination driving him. He started slightly when he noticed all the bookshelves and the diminutive form of his secret confidant curled up in an expensive looking leather arm chair in the corner by the fire. Hermione’s eyes met his with a smile.

“Fred.” His name rolled off her tongue like warm honey and he scowled as he stepped into the room.

Hermione’s eyes widened in concern and she shut the book in her lap. “What’s wrong, Fred?” she asked softly.

Resuming his earlier pacing, Fred dragged large hands through his already mussed hair. He looked at her searchingly. “George.”

Hermione stiffened. “What about George? Is he alright?”

“He suspects something,” Fred ground out past gritted teeth.

She blanched. “He does? You didn’t tell him anything, did you?” Her voice was strangled.

Biting back a curse, Fred began to gesture wildly. “Of course I bloody well didn’t, Granger! You know what I did do though?” He whirled on her then, ignoring her flinch as he jabbed an accusing finger. “I lied to him. George! I lied to my twin brother because you asked me to,” his rasped.

Eyeing him warily, as if expecting him to attack her physically, Hermione slowly stood from her chair, setting the book down behind her. Slender fingers reached toward him tentatively. “Fred?” she asked timidly.

“Don’t,” Fred spat, yanking his arm from her grasp. “Just… Not right now.” With that, he swept from the room.

-oOo-

The rest of the day dragged. Fred had studiously avoided any and all contact, refusing to even look at Hermione despite sitting across from her on the way to St. Mungo’s to visit his father. Once there, he and George had snuck off as soon as possible, first fetching a cup of tea, then attempting to find the hospital’s potions cupboard, only to come back to Grimmauld Place and lock themselves in their room for the remainder of the evening. Now it was late. All decent hours to be awake had passed awhile ago yet still guilt seemed content to gnaw holes in his insides. Fred listened bitterly to gentle snore of his twin, knowing from experience he wouldn’t be able to drift off as well until he checked up on Hermione. 

Sneaking quietly from the room, Fred padded down the plushly carpeted hall to the room Hermione shared with his little sister, Ginny. Door creaking faintly on it’s hinges, Fred popped his head around and cursed at the perfectly made bed dominating the right side of the room. After a brief glance in the kitchens and sitting room, Fred found himself at the library, mildly annoyed, and watching a forlorn Hermione staring down blankly at the cover of a book. 

“You of all people should know they work better if you open them,” he said.

Red-rimmed eyes snapped up to him, startled. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

Fred pushed himself off the door and came to kneel in front of her. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m sorry…” they both paused, each having spoken. Relieved, Fred gestured to Hermione to continue.

She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I made you lie to George,” her voice rasped, whether from disuse or tears, Fred wasn’t sure.

Chin falling to his chest, Fred took a moment to absorb her words. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you but, Hermione,” he pleaded, exasperation coloring his tone. His rough calloused hand clasped firmly over hers and he held her gaze intently. “Why can’t we tell him? It’s nothing sordid! We’re just friends. For two years, Hermione!”

“Fred -”

Leaping to his feet, Fred paced. “No! He’s trustworthy. I swear he is. He wouldn’t tell anyone else, Hermione, not if we asked him not to.” He whirled on her, grasping her hands again. “It’s George,” Fred said imploringly.

Tears choked her voice as she said so low he almost didn’t hear, “It would change things, Fred.”

“It wouldn’t,” he vehemently denied.

Hermione’s eyes flashed in anger and she pulled her hands from between his. “It would!” she said. “It already has! Tell me, Fred, what exactly did George say to you?”

He studied her, his expression guarded. “Only that he’s noticed we’ve been spending more time together.” 

“And how did you respond?”

Fred shook his head. “I don’t -”

“You avoided me, Fred!” she cried, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “George obviously didn’t approve of whatever it is he thinks he saw so you’ve been avoiding me.”

Offended, he brushed her finger away. “Because he doesn’t understand -”

“Sure,” she interrupted. “Because everyone we’re friends with is just so _understanding_ , are they, Fred? What do you think will happen if we tell everyone now that we’ve secretly been friends for the last two years? They’re all going to have opinions, Fred. Loud, vocal opinions regardless of if it’s their business or not, and it’s going to change how we interact together! I wouldn’t be able to be myself with you, something I dearly love, because I’d be too worried someone was watching us, reading into it things.”

Fred stared at her as if she were barmy. “It’s just George!” he bellowed.

Hermione gave a low scream of frustration, her tiny hands yanking at her bushy strands. “Yes, Fred. Just George, who you would have to tell the entire truth to! Everything Fred! How you found me, what I might have done if you hadn’t shown up, how sorry and pathetic the poor little muggle-born girl really is -”

Outraged, Fred lept to his feet. “Don’t you dare, Granger! George would never treat you like that!”

Hermione stood to face him, her body tense, fists balled at her sides. “Oh no? I’ve heard what he says. He already thinks I’m an annoying little swot! I don’t need another reason for him to dislike me any more than he already does.”

Fred could hear the angry thrum of his heartbeat in his ears. He gaped at her, mouth working silently before he finally found his voice. “But you are an annoying swot!” he shouted, resisting the urge to reach out and throttle her. “Maybe if you laid off about us testing our products he wouldn’t have quite so much of a reason to think so. I don’t understand how me telling him will change any of that!”

Eyes suddenly shining, Hermione reeled as if slapped. Her voice wavered when she spoke. “You… _you_ still think I’m annoying?” 

Fred rounded on her. “Oh no! You don’t have any right to make me feel guilty, Granger. You know damn well you’re an annoying swot, you don’t need George or me to tell you. And that’s beside the point! This is your fault. It is your fault I had to lie to George!”

Her eyes hardened despite the bitter tears still straining for release. “I never asked you to be my friend, Fred,” she whispered harshly.

Fred snorted and rolled his eyes. “Fat lot of choice I had there, Granger.”

The strangled whimper that escaped her throat caused his stomach to drop painfully. “I… I knew… Fred Weasley, I knew that’s why we became friends, but I didn’t… didn’t realize that was the _o-only_ reason,” Hermione’s voice cracked painfully and she fought to regain control.

Fred’s face crumbled and he reached for her. “Hermione -”

“No,” she spat, taking a step back. Pulling herself up and squaring her shoulders proudly, she glared at him, furious mask in place. “I am so _terribly_ sorry for having wasted so much of your time,” she mocked, her lip quivering. She took a deep breath before cold eyes locked onto his. Then Hermione sneered. 

“Happy Christmas.” 

She turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

With a groan, Fred collapsed heavily into her armchair, dropped his head into his hands, and stared unseeing at the smoldering fire.

A cleared throat drew him out of his quiet seething and he sprang to his feet, wand drawn.

“Spectacular show there, mate,” Sirius Black stated, leaning airily against the door frame and picking at some invisible lint. “Well done, putting the bird in her place.” Smokey gray eyes flashed up at him mockingly.

Sighing in disgust, Fred pocketed his wand. “Bugger off, Sirius,” he groaned, sitting back down and resuming staring into the fire. Movement from the door drew his eyes back to Sirius. Fred snarled. “Aren’t you gone yet?”

“Hardly.” Draping himself in a decidedly elegant fashion across the matching armchair across from Fred, Sirius made a show of studying his perpetually dirty finger nails. 

“Shame really,” he began, glancing toward Fred through a fringe of hair. “Letting some bird come between you and your matching half. And a swot, no less?”

“She’s not a bloody swot,” Fred grunted, refusing to look away from the embers.

Sirius laughed humorlessly. “That’s not the way I heard it. In fact,” he said, slapping his knee for emphasis, “It seems there’s universal agreement on her swot-like status.”

Fred cringed before shooting Sirius a murderous glare. “Finished?”

Sirius gave a winning grin. “Now that depends. Shall I expound on what a fantastic prat you are for sending the girl off in tears? Or how, if you’re really going to let someone come between you and your brother, I’d at least hope you were getting a little something on the side? Unless I’m quite mistaken and you are shagging her, in which case ‘prat’ just doesn’t quite cover -”

With an inarticulate yell, Fred picked up a nearby tea cup and hurled it into the fire. The fine china shattered in a spray of dust. Eyes hot with unshed tears, Fred stood and resumed his earlier pacing, resolutely avoiding looking at the older man.

“I never really liked that tea set anyway,” Sirius announced airily after long moments.

Fred snorted and rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a right bastard, Black?”

Sirius smirked. “James may have mentioned it once or twice back in the day.” He paused in contemplation. “You know, you’re not going to win this one, mate,” he said softly.

Slumping back down into the chair, Fred scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I know,” he said in exasperation.

Sirius nodded as if that was what he expected. “Any idea how you’re going to right this mess? She doesn’t seem like the type of bird to be bought off with a dozen flowers and a few sweet words.”

Fred shook his head. “Not a bloody one. Merlin’s balls,” he groaned. “I really am a right prat.”

Sirius stood, laughing, and headed toward the small, unobtrusive bar in the corner. He poured himself a firewhiskey. “You certainly are at that. Care for a drink?”

“If you think it’ll help.”

Handing Fred his own glass, Sirius tossed his back and sighed. “Course, mate. Firewhiskey always helps.”

Fred took a large swallow, wincing with a groan as it went down. His head started to swim almost immediately and deep burn in his gut soothed his frayed nerves.

“So,” asked Sirius, pouring himself another shot. “How are you going to win back the girl?”

Fred snorted into his glass. “Same way I’m going to win back George. I’ll apologize, maybe prostrate myself at her feet, and eventually she’ll forgive me.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Fred scoffed, his head buzzing slightly. “Please. She’s forgiven my little prat of a brother for worse than this.”

Sirius contemplated him over the rim of his glass. “I wouldn’t be so hasty, mate. It sounded to me like you threw the basis for your entire friendship into question.”

At this Fred started, blinking in surprise. His eyes widened in horror before he dropped his head in shame. “Buggering hell, I didn’t, didn’t I?”

Swallowing the last of his firewhiskey, Sirius clapped him once on the shoulder. “It’s not insurmountable, mate. Though I might recommend one hell of an ‘I’m sorry’ gift.”

Fred nodded absentmindedly. Sirius’ words and his earlier encounter with Hermione swirled through his head in a torrent. Guilt and anger and embarrassment warred for dominance in his gut. He didn’t have the slightest clue what sort of gift would make up for him all but telling her he never wanted to be her friend, when what he actually wanted, when he let himself think about it, was quite the opposite. She’d grown on him over the last two years and while, initially, he might not have been overly thrilled, she’d somehow ingrained herself in his life. He’d found himself on more than one occasion with his mind wondering to what she might be doing, what she must be thinking. If only he could think of a way for them to share their thoughts -. 

Fred shot out of his chair. “Bloody brilliant,” he muttered, mentally tallying a list of ingredients. “Need to research that charm, and some added enhancements wouldn’t hurt. There must be some way to make it two directional…” He slipped out the door to the library lost deep in thought before he remembered he’d left Sirius behind without so much as a backward glance.

He jogged lightly back to the library and popped his head around the door. “Thanks for the chat, Sirius,” he said, smiling viciously at the old mutt. “You really aren’t nearly as bad a bloke as mum says.” And with that he resumed his quick yet stealthy pace to the room he and George shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on [tumblr](http://emani-writes.tumblr.com/)! I changed my name so I'm emani-writes now.


	5. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during OotP. After unintentionally implying that his friendship with Hermione was only due to obligation, Fred Weasley begins his quest to earn her forgiveness.

Winter break was ending at 12 Grimmauld Place. Ever since the disastrous Christmas Day row with Fred, Hermione Granger had done her utmost best to avoid the twins. 

Either. Both. It didn’t matter anymore. 

In the days following their late night argument in the library, Hermione had proven herself to be exceptionally gifted at avoiding Fred, and not at all reluctant to hex him on the few occasions he did manage to corner her. She’d even gone so far as to set wards around her bed at night after Fred had made an attempt to use her sleep-addled brain to force her to speak with him. He’d left quite quickly, attempting to stymie the sardines dripping from his nose, a hex Hermione had picked up her first year from Hagrid after Ron’s slug vomiting incident. 

Despite all her best efforts, on the last day of the winter holidays Hermione found herself seated next to Fred at the dinner table, Harry between Fred and George, and Sirius across from her, shooting her poorly hidden looks of bemusement over the lip of his tumbler. Hermione glared down at her mashed parsnips to avoid any and all eye contact. Her lips were set in a thin line and she kept slowly easing away from Fred, even as he seemed to be pressing further and further into her space.

Undaunted, Fred whispered to her throughout the meal as they passed around dishes. His head was tilted down and toward her, hiding his moving lips.

“Hermione.”

She stiffened and turned her head away from him. Hermione could feel his eye roll and scowled harder.

“I know you can hear me, Hermione.”

She sniffed, piercing her meat furiously with her fork. 

“I’m truly sorry, you know. About all of it.”

Bringing the bite to her lips, she accidently caught Sirius’ eye. He smirked and winked at her causing her to blush furiously. 

Seemingly unaware of his audience, Fred continued. “I didn’t mean any of it, Hermione. Honest.” She started when she felt something drop into her lap under the table. “Would you read it?”

Glancing down, Hermione found a folded bit of parchment covered in Fred’s messy scroll. She snorted and rolled her eyes before scanning the table for a friendly face. Leaning forward and away from Fred, she caught Molly Weasley’s eye. 

“Dinner’s been wonderful, Mrs Weasely. How do you make the beans taste so buttery?”

Smiling broadly at the praise, Mrs Weasely launched into a detailed and long-winded explanation about cooking spells. Sighing heavily, Fred leaned frustratedly back in his seat. Running a large hand through his bright hair, he caught sight of Sirius whose shoulders were bouncing in silent amusement, gray eyes glittering. Fred scowled at the older wizard. Turning away his attention to the plate before him, Fred casually dropped his hand down into his lap. He eased his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand, accidentally jostling Hermione. She turned to him, alarmed, eyes dropping down to see what had bumped her side. Head snapping up to Fred’s innocent mask, she was just about to demand to know what he was doing when Sirius lept from the bench with a howl, rubbing at his inner thigh where the stinging hex had hit. 

The table erupted into confused chatter and questions. Focused on Sirius’ accusing glare and brush-off of Molly’s inquiries, Fred nearly missed the small snort of amusement to his right. Fred dropped his head smiling smugly to himself.

-oOo-

Dinner ended not long after. Hermione leapt from her spot to rush her dishes to the sink and out the kitchen door. Eager to see if she would read his note, Fred followed her out and to the drawing room. He stopped just outside the door and watched her intently. 

Hermione stood, shoulders hunched, facing the sputtering fire of the drawing room. With almost tender reverence, she fingered the note in her hand tracing along the script that seemed to cover the entire parchment. She sighed heavily before stealing her shoulders and throwing the note into the fire. Turning, Hermione started violently when she noticed Fred in the door. Their eyes locked a long moment, sad hazel eyes to anxious, almost guilty brown before Hermione’s gaze became a scowl. She turned up her pert nose, crossed her arms defiantly, and stomped from the room, thumping Fred’s shoulder as she went.

Rubbing the back of his neck in frustration, Fred groaned. “Well, shite.” 

He winced as a hard hand clapped him on the back. Sirius grinned at him, baring his teeth. “Not giving up yet, are you, mate?” he asked, sarcasm dripping through his tone. He eyed Fred calculatingly. 

Fred glared back. “Not hardly.”

Sirius’ grin widened, his grip tightening painfully on Fred’s shoulder. “Good. She’s a good girl. Deserves… well, a better friend than you,” he drawled.

Snorting, Fred shrugged his hand off. He turned toward the older wizard, his expression one of innocent curiosity. “How’s the thigh, Sirius?” 

The grin on Sirius’ lined face dropped into a sneer and he jabbed an accusing finger in Fred’s chest. “Hex me again, pup, and I’ll have your bollocks.”

A large, wicked grin spread across the red-heads face and he winked at the older wizard. “Why Sirius. Didn’t know I was your type.” 

Sirius grinned to match his own. “Don’t you wish. You’re not nearly pretty enough for me, Red.”

Mock hurt flashed across Fred’s face. He pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes shining. “What?” he whispered, forcing his voice to crack. “I’m too old?”

Dark gray eyes widened in realization. Sirius took a step forward to swat at the younger wizard but Fred, anticipating the small delay, had already ducked around the dark-haired man and was running away down the hall. He raced up the stairs to the room he shared with George, slamming the door behind him, booming laughter drowned out by the screeches of the portrait of Walburga Black.

-oOo-

Hermione stalked through the halls of Hogwarts a week after the end of break. She was annoyed. It seemed everywhere she turned, there was Fred; racing down the halls with George or Lee hot on his heels, boisterous and hollering in the common room over a game of exploding snaps, or, worst of all, sneaking furtive glances down the table at her during meals. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, ever since they returned to Hogwarts, she’d been finding random bits of parchment in between the pages of her textbooks, in the pockets of her robes and bag, once even in the filling of her treacle tart. Each and every scrap had the same handwritten note. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

So she was annoyed, with Fred, true, but mostly with herself. Because try as she might to convince herself otherwise, the truth of the matter was she _wanted_ to believe him. She would even go so far as to say she missed him. Missed talking to him late at night in the common room after everyone else had retired. Missed how he always seemed able to make her laugh. Missed how he had always seemed genuinely interested in getting to know the girl behind the book. 

But no, she told herself furiously. That was what caused this, wasn’t it? Despite everything, despite all of it, he thought she was annoying, a swot. Anger and hurt stabbed through her chest, radiating through the palms of her hands, and burning her eyes every time she thought about him saying she was just an obligation. Suggesting he wouldn’t have been her friend otherwise. And for the life of her, Hermione could not figure out why Fred’s betrayal hurt so much worse than any of Ron’s.

It was with these thoughts swirling in her head that she trudge down the corridor on her way to the library, eyes focused on the floor, book hugged tightly to her chest.

Suddenly, a hand flashed out, gripping her arm and yanking her behind a tapestry into a hidden alcove. She squealed in fright but recovered quickly, dropping her book to the ground as she snatched her wand into her hand. Hermione blinked as she realized the tip of her wand was pressed tightly to a familiar neck. Glancing up and catching a shock of red hair, she snarled and pressed her wand harder to the bobbing adams-apple. 

Fred held up his hands placatingly, wide eyes swimming with trepidation. “Whoa, nice reflexes there, Hermione. But as tempting as I’m sure it is, I really rather you didn’t hex me. Again.” He reached up to push away her wand, but stopped when Hermione growled at him.

Hermione sneered at him, a face he was seeing more and more from his ex-best friend. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t, Weasely,” she sneered, brown eyes flashing anger like a life preserver. She couldn’t stand the thought that he would see how much he’d hurt her.

“Aw, come on, Hermione. It’s me.”

A bitter smile lit her lips. “And which one were you again?”

Fred flushed violently, swallowing hard and dropping his gaze. “I said I was sorry,” he said softly to the floor between their feet.

“And I told you I don’t need your charity.”

His gaze snapped back up to hers, his expression fierce. “I know I mess up. I know I said some bloody stupid things, but don’t you ever for a second think my friendship with you was anything less than genuine.”

Blinking away tears, Hermione turned quickly away from him, pocketing her wand. She kept her head down using her mane of hair to hide the emotion on her face. 

Undeterred, Fred continued. “I care for you, Hermione,” he whispered, his hand brushing up her arm. “Just as much as I care for George. I’m so sorry I said what I did, but you have to know I didn’t mean any of it. Not even a little bit.” 

He looked down, disheartened. “I was angry. And that’s no excuse for how I acted or what I said, but I promise it won’t ever happen again. I’m sorry I hurt you, but please. Let me try to make it up to you.” He watched her for long moments before she lifted her eyes to frown at him.

He sighed. “Here.” Fred shoved a wrapped parcel into her hands before shoving his deep into his pockets and rocking back anxiously on his heels.

Hermione held the parcel gingerly, eyeing him and it warily. “What is it?”

Fred snorted and his shoulders hunched up nervously even as his ears reddened. “It’s something I’ve been working on. To show you I’m sorry.”

Her eyes held his a moment more before she finally dropped her gaze to the parcel in her hand. Hermione opened it slowly revealing a slim, leather bound journal no bigger than her hand. She looked up at him questioningly. “A book?” She cracked it open and flipped through a few pages. “An empty book.”

Fred smirked. “It’s a journal.” He held up a matching book. “This is it’s mate.”

She stared back and forth between the books then back up to him. 

“It’s a way to communicate, sort of like your fake galleons.”

Nodding absentmindedly, she turned the book over in her hands. “So you used a Protean Charm?”

“That and several others. I charmed it so we’ll never run out of pages, and should it ever fall into someone else’s hands, the writing will rearrange itself into indecipherable text.”

At that, her head snapped up to him, her brown eyes narrowed. “You invented this? How does it work?”

Visibly relieved at her reaction, Fred waved his book at her excitedly. “Can’t really claim to have invented it. You can buy them at Flourish & Blotts, but George and I figure why do that when we can make it better ourselves.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Right.”

Taking a step closer so her could point over her shoulder, Fred drew his wand and demonstrated. “After writing something, tap the page with your wand three times, and the words show up in it’s mate. My book will vibrate slightly to let me know you’ve written until open it. Here, let me show you.”

Pulling out a self-inking quill, Fred jotted a hasty note into his journal, tapped the page three times, and the small book in Hermione’s hands began to vibrate insistently. She opened it to reveal the words ‘I miss you, Hermione.’

Blushing furiously, Hermione stared hard at the floor. “Why a book?”

Nervous again, Fred replied in a small voice. “I’m relying on your deeply ingrained love of books to prevent you from destroying it.”

Hurt flashed across her face. Hermione looked down sadly at the journal in her hands. “So you thought you’d use my bookish nature against me?”

“No! No, of course not. That isn’t… I just… bugger.” Fred ran a hand through his hair, pulling slightly in frustration. Head hanging in defeat, he sighed. “I just thought you’d like it.” 

Hermione studied him a moment before putting her hand on his arm. Starting, Fred’s head snapped to her hand then up to her face in obvious question. 

She frowned at him but continued to grip him. “It… it is rather brilliant, Fred.”

Fred’s face burned at the unexpected praise. “Well, Charms is my best subject.”

“Is it?” she asked, curiosity clear in her voice.

“It’s where I get my highest scores anyway,” he said with a shrug, the knot of apprehension he’d held in his gut since Christmas night loosening the slightest bit. “I actually like Transfiguration better.”

“I would think it’s be Potions what with all your prank candies.”

Fred winced. “Yeah, I’m a decent hand a potions, but George is far better. Lucky git.”

Hermione smiled softly at him before realizing what she’s doing. She shook her head to clear it and looked away, uncomfortable again in the small alcove with him.

“Thank you, Fred, for the gift,” she said, reaching for the tapestry.

“Will you use it?” his voice surprisingly desperate.

Hermione turned and stared at him over her shoulder for a long time, sad brown eyes traveling over his face, her chest tight in her desire to believe the sincerity she saw there. 

“I don’t know, Fred.”

He nodded staring down at his feet.

“I have to get to class...” she began awkwardly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her off with a force nonchalance. “You go on ahead.”

Nodding once, Hermione slipped silently out of the alcove, journal now hugged tightly to her chest.

Fred stayed behind in the alcove, replaying the interaction and again kicking himself for his harsh and stupid words from weeks ago. He was just about to leave when he looked down and spotted Hermione’s library book that she’d dropped when he had first pulled her in. Mood lightening slightly, Fred bent to pick up the book, pocketing it. He smiled to himself, plotting for the at least one more guaranteed interaction he would soon has with his wayward best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm friendly! Ish! [Say hi on tumblr](http://emani-writes.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Defined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during OotP. No longer at odds after their Christmas row, Hermione and Fred attempt to fall back into the easy friendship they had before until guilt and anxiety press their hand.

_ ‘I miss you, Hermione.’ _

Ink stained fingers brushed tenderly over the messy scroll as Hermione Granger sat idly at her favorite hidden table deep within the stacks of the Hogwarts library. Not twenty minutes ago she had all but run from the hidden alcove Fred Weasley had pulled her into to give her the small, red, leather bound journal which now lay open on top of her stack of homework. Picking it up gingerly, she turned it over in her hand to inspect the craftsmanship and detail of the fine gold stitching that embroidered the edges of the magical journal. It truly was an impressive bit of magic as Fred had explained it to her, able to send messages back and forth between twin journals and a protection charm that prevented any other eyes from deciphering the text.

Practically buzzing in her seat from curiosity, Hermione decided she simply had to know how it worked. Dipping her quill into the ink well, she scratched out a hesitant reply beneath what Fred had written.

_ ‘Can you explain how the protection works? How did you charm it to only allow one of us to read it?   
\- H’ _

Pulling her wand from a pocket in her robes, Hermione tapped the page three times as Fred had instructed, and felt a small thrill of trepidation burn in her chest as the words glowed briefly before returning to normal inky black across the page.

Expecting to wait some time for a reply, Hermione started violently, nearly knocking her ink well across her scattered homework, when she felt the small journal vibrate insistently under her elbow.

_ ‘I knew you this would peak your interest. And the protection charm is rather simple. Now you’ve responded to my initial message, it’s tied to the two of us.’ _

Hermione scowled down at his response, question after question burning through her mind.

_ ‘My response sealed it? Then that would make it tied to our wands, wouldn’t it? What happens if someone were to steal one of our wands? Would they then be able to read our correspondences?  
\- H’ _

His response took longer this time. Hermione’s scowl deepened the longer she waited, huffing an annoyed breath at his delay. Finally, the small journal vibrated.

_ ‘Tested your wand theory a bit. I nicked George’s wand while he was “otherwise occupied” with Angelina. Seems you were right, it is tied to wands. I’ll have to experiment further with my initial prototypes to test if someone else can read it while in possession of the owner’s wand before we really think about how best to market them.’ _

Fierce brown eyes widened and her mouth fell open in surprise.

_ ‘Fred Weasley! Have you actually tricked me into testing one of your inventions?’ _

Fred’s response back was immediate.

_ ‘Of course not! Well, sort of. Not really?’ _

_ ‘Fred.’ _

_ ‘I’m sticking with sort of. I was honest when I told you I created these for you. Trying to get back into your good graces was certainly my inspiration. But George and me do have plans to open a shop one day soon and why not let something you inspired be available to others? For a small fee of course.’ _

_ ‘I’m unsure if I should be annoyed at being your test subject or delighted to be your inspiration.’ _

_ ‘Delighted. Definitely. Though I must say my only regret is not seeing your face as you realized I finally tricked you into testing one of mine and George’s products.’ _

Despite herself, a small giggle escaped her as she read his last line. Bloody git, she thought good naturedly, not even attempting to fight the grin that had spread across her face.

_ ‘How very Slytherin of you, Fred. Really. How did you two ever manage to end up in Gryffindor? I must admit, this was a much more pleasant experience than I ever expected to have result from use of your products.’ _

_ ‘Bite your tongue, you bloody chit! Georgie and I are plenty brave of heart I’ll have you know. And I’m offended. I present you with a rare and delightful opportunity and you immediately “repay” my overwhelming kindness by besmirching my shining, golden reputation! I’ll not stand for it!’ _

_ ‘Oh? And how do you expect to pay me back for my impertinence then, Fred?’ _

_ ‘Canary Cream hidden in your evening dessert.’ _

_ ‘You wouldn’t!’ _

_ ‘Damn. You’re right. I wouldn’t. Not after that sardine hex you hit me with over holiday.’ _

_ ‘Oh, Fred! I truly am sorry about that.’ _

_ ‘You shouldn’t be. It was brilliant. Only way it would have been better is if it had been directed at anyone else. Especially ikle Ronnikins.’ _

_ ‘Is that your favorite invention, then? Canary Creams?’ _

_ ‘Nope. Favorite by far would have to be the Skivving Snack Boxes. Though this journal is turning out to be a close second.’ _

Pointedly ignoring the blush she could feel coloring her cheeks at his implied compliment, Hermione rolled her eyes at her own childish reaction. It wasn’t as if Fred liked the journal because of her, right? He was just proud of his accomplishment.

Forcing down the rolling butterflies fluttering through her stomach, she wrote him back.

_ ‘ Why Skivving Snack Boxes?’ _

_ ‘Come now, Granger! Surely even you realize there are times in every young witch or wizard’s life when there is just something more important than attending class?’ _

Hermione scoffed, affronted by his blasé attitude. She sniffed imperiously. 

_ ‘I can’t say I agree with that statement.’ _

_ ‘Right. Fortunately, I find that to be one of the more charming aspects of your personality.’ _

A small growl escaped from her throat.

_ ‘Are you making fun of me?’ _

_ ‘Never.’ _

Eyes narrowed, her lips pursed before breaking up into a smirk at his antics. She felt a pang of longing shoot through her then as she contemplated what to tell him. Hermione hesitated at what she wanted to write next, but the covert nature of the journal made her bold.

_ ‘You know I missed you, too. Even when I was so very angry, I missed you. In fact, that I missed you just served to upset me more.’ _

She felt a tear slide down her nose as she stared at the quickly filling pages, and brushed it away quickly when she felt the journal vibrate once more.

_ ‘I really am sorry, Hermione. And while I can’t promise you I won’t ever screw up again, I can assure you it won’t ever be that colossally stupid. I never meant for you to think our friendship was anything other than completely genuine. I’d never do that to you. You do know that, right?’ _

A small, strangled sob escaped her even as she felt a warmth radiate through her chest. Hermione quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle any other sounds that might try to escape her as she basked in the relief of having her friend back. After a few minutes, she finally composed herself enough to write back.

_ ‘I’m sorry too, Fred.’ _

The pause this time waiting for his response dragged out longer than she expected.

_ ‘Not to start another fight, but can you help me understand? I wish you could trust George like I do.’ _

Hermione floundered long minutes thinking up how to express to him her hesitation. Finally, unable to articulate how she felt, she decided to avoid the question entirely.

_ ‘I know, Fred. I do. And I wish I could trust him, too. I feel so guilty. I hate being a wedge between you two.’ _

_ ‘You know, of the two of us, he’s the more mellow? When we were younger, and sometimes even now, he would talk me out of doing something I thought, at the time anyway, would be funny but really would have just been cruel. If I’m being completely honest, he’s the better person. He always has been the better person.’ _

Her breath was coming in shallow pants. She couldn’t do this to him anymore. She couldn’t be the reason Fred and George were at odds. Her normally looping handwriting was shaky and stuttered when she responded.

_ ‘I am so sorry, Fred. I’m so sorry for coming between you and George. I can’t, I won’t do it anymore. I won’t make you choose between us. Thank you for thinking of me to make this lovely journal but maybe we should take a break for awhile.’ _

_ ‘No. Hermione, no.’ _

Hermione bit down on her hand to stifle her sob.

_ ‘Fred. I don’t want to hurt you any more.’ _

There was a long pause before he responded again. Her vision grew blurry and clouded as tears filled her eyes and spilled down the soft swell of her cheeks. The journal vibrated.

_ ‘Where are you?’ _

Hermione swiped at her tears in frustration, fighting to see what he’d written to her.

_ ‘The library. Why?’ _

She waited long moments with no response. She wrote again.

_ ‘Fred, why?’ _

Suddenly, she heard pounding footfalls followed by the sharp hush of the school librarian, Mrs.Pinch. Looking around to see where the disturbance was coming from, she just barely held in her startled shriek when Fred skid to a halt in front of her, panting for breath, his face flushed and pulled into a rough mix of anger and apprehension. He stood there a moment, breathing forcefully through his nose, hazel eyes fixed unerringly on hers. Hermione felt the sting of tears once more and dropped her gaze to the cold, stone floor.

After a moment, his feet entered her field of sight. She cringed at the sound of the wooden chair scraping across the floor, and he settled down into it with a huff. Silence returned, heavy and oppressive between them.

Finally Fred spoke, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “You breaking up with me, Granger?”

Hermione’s head snapped up at the wet and broken quality of his voice to see his eyes red and shining with unshed tears.

“But… What? Fred?” she sputtered inelegantly, her hands reaching to grasp his without her conscious permission.

Fred clasped her hands back and stared hard into her face. His chest expanded and fell rapidly with increasing panic. “Because that’s what this feels like, Hermione, and I’ll be damned if I let you block me out again after all the effort I put in to get you to forgive me.” He eyed her skeptically a minute, before pulling back from her in obvious concern. “You have forgiven me, right?”

Mutinous tears fell from her lashes and she choked on the knot lodged in her throat. “Fred,” she managed to breath, launching herself at him to bury her face in his chest. A muffled sob escaped her when she felt his strong arms wrap tightly around her. Fred rubbed soothing circles across her back and started rocking from side to side. He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing deeply in the scent of vanilla and Hermione, as she did the same to his robes.

Forcing herself to breathe in deep, shuddering breaths, Hermione finally calmed herself enough to ask the question that had been hammering through her mind. “But what about, George?” she croaked through tear strained vocal cords.

Fred’s arms tightened around her. “What about him, Hermione?” he demanded, his voice tinged with exasperation. “He suspects. Of course he suspects. But I don’t bloody care.” 

She shuddered before pressing herself more firmly into his warmth. “I won’t come between you two like that again, Fred.”

He snorted. Weaving his fingers through her riotous hair, he pulled back slightly so he could look down at her earnestly. “And I appreciate the sentiment, Hermione, honest.” Fred pressed her head back to his chest once more. “But I agreed. All the way back in fifth year, I agreed to keep him in the dark. And yes,” he cut her off as she pulled back to say something, one long finger pressed firmly against her lips. He smirked lightly at her scowl. “It does suck sometimes and I don’t like it. But I like you well enough to do it anyway. I don’t want to lose you again, Hermione. Please?”

Hermione blinked at him, her warm brown eyes wide in surprise. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before she trusted her voice enough to respond. “You… you _like_ me, Fred?” she whispered, her voice laced with skepticism, hope, and wonder.

A spectacular flush bloomed over his cheeks, engulfing his ears, and racing down his collar. Hermione watched, her gut clenched in apprehension, as his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly.

Horrified at her mistaken assumption, Hermione pulled away from him and climbed to her feet, her face hot, eyes burning. She stared resolutely at the floor even as she stepped back toward the table gathered her things. “Nevermind,” she mumbled, shaking her head at her utter stupidity and cringing at how her voice shook.

Her wavering seemed to snap Fred out of his haze. The chair scraped again before large hands wrapped around her upper arms and turned her to face him. Her eyes flicked up to meet his before dropping once more.

“Hermione,” he breathed, before clearing his throat.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed closed, wringing her hands in discomfort. “Just forget I said anything?” she pleaded.

“No.”

Her head snapped up at his declaration and she looked at him with terrified eyes, a single tear finally managing to spill down her cheek. “What?” she croaked.

Fred swallowed hard once more. “I…” he started, his voice catching in his throat. He coughed once to clear it. “I do, Hermione.” He studied her confused expression. “Like you,” he clarified, smirking slightly when her eyes went wide in understanding. 

“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes still comically wide and the heavy knot in her stomach rolling even as it lightened. Her heart nearly erupted out of her chest when he took a small step closer to her and she felt the heat of his body pressing against the length of hers, nearly scalding now compared to moments before when they’d still simply been friends. Hermione felt fingers weaving through her hair once more, but where the sensations before had been merely comforting, this time managed to send chills of pleasure down her spine. Her eyes slid closed at the delightful feelings coursing through her at just his touch and she heard herself moan. Horrified, she stiffened in his arms, her face going crimson. 

Fred’s chuckle vibrated through her body, his breath ghosting over his face. “Well, that’s encouraging,” he said before soft lips brushed hers tentatively in a chaste kiss that nevertheless had her body singing in decidedly sinful ways. He pulled away all too quickly to study her reaction. 

“Oh,” she said again, her eyes fluttering. Fred grinned down at her.

“Alright, Granger?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Alright, Fred.”

Leaning forward until their foreheads touched, Fred then placed a small kiss on the tip of her nose. Hermione snaked her arms around his neck, relishing the attention. She sighed. “Care to define this?” she asked, warm brown eyes opening to study him.

Fred shrugged. “I think,” he said, punctuating his comment with a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “until you’re ready to tell everyone...” He squeezed her once when she stiffened, his gaze intensifying as he regarded her. He cleared his throat.

“Until you’re ready to tell everyone,” he said with more passion. “I think this is just us.” Rough fingers brushed her cheek. “I don’t really want to define it until there’s someone to define it to.”

Grimacing, Hermione nodded, her fingers playing with the fringe of hair near his collar. “Just us,” she agreed before lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [emani-writes on tumblr](http://emani-writes.tumblr.com/)


	7. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during OotP. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are hospitalized after the battle for the Prophesy in the Department of Mysteries. Fred sneaks in to check on them in the dead of night.

Deep, inky shadows seeped from the corners and alcoves, smearing across cold flagstones. The moon, barely a sliver low in the sky, could not hope to fight back the swelling darkness but still Fred Weasley cast no _Lumos_ to guide his way. He knew these halls, even has he dragged one hand across the walls to keep his bearings. He knew the alcove he just passed was in fact a shortcut down to the Charms corridor. He knew in ten more shuffled steps he would reach a scorched and dented suit of armor carrying a mace and bearing a shield with the crest of Gryffindor. And he knew twelve steps beyond the suit of armor, just to the right behind a dull, bland tapestry of wilted roses, he would find the quickest passage to the infirmary from his chosen entry point to Hogwarts castle. 

Setting a steady, practiced pace, Fred made not even the barest hint of a scuffle as he eased up steps and down long hallways. At this hour, he’d hardly thought to bother with the disillusionment charm he wore. 

The narrow stairwell he was on turned sharply to the left to spill him into the final hallway leading him to his destination. Twenty-six strides more and Fred stood before the large, ornate, wooden doors, not that he could discern any of the otherwise stunning details in the paltry moonlight. 

He paused, schooling his features and blanketing the nearly overwhelming fear and wary anger that gripped his chest. Sucking in a quick breath, he pressed the door inward as he nimbly slipped his stocky frame through the gap. 

The inky blackness from the hallways seemed to pervade the corners of the Hogwarts infirmary, even as the moon managed to highlight the faint, almost glow of the crisp white sheets of the numerous beds. Fred squinted into the darkness, his gaze scanning over each bed until he saw them; two beds, side-by-side, with dark blots against the pillows.

Fred clenched his jaw as he approached the first bed. His youngest brother, Ron, lay still and snoring, his brow creased even in sleep. Despite the lack of proper light, Fred could still see the faint hint of angry welts cross-crossing both of Ron’s arms and his neck, but his breathing was deep and even, if loud, and Fred felt his shoulders relax minutely. Reaching into the bag slung across his back, he set out the get well basket full of Chocolate Frogs he and George had hastily thrown together upon learning of the foolhardy venture to the Department of Mysteries and resulting injuries to his younger siblings, both of whom had followed Harry _bloody_ Potter, along with Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger. 

_Hermione_. Fred felt his earlier panic welling deep in his gut as he turned to the small form in the next bed. Her brown, bushy hair fanned out in a wild halo around her head. Soft, barely audible moans of pain breathed past her parted lips even as she fitfully slept. Clean, white bandages just peeked out from the top collar of her infirmary-issued pajamas. 

Anger pierced his chest and Fred felt his nails digging into his palms as his fists clenched.

 _That wouldn’t do_. Forcing deep breaths through his nose, he just managed to suppress his rioting emotions. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and clumsily patted Hermione’s hair. 

Starting violently, Hermione sat up forcefully in bed, gasping and clutching her chest. Alarmed, Fred stumbled backwards several steps, just managing to cast a hasty silencing charm around them both before he fell with a ‘umph’ to the hard ground. 

“Who?” Panic sharped Hermione’s terrified whisper. Her wide, brown eyes darted around searchingly, cutting over him without seeing. 

Fred cursed to himself and cancelled the disillusionment charm as he stood. 

A low, rasping moan drew his attention to her haggard face. Hermione’s eyes were screwed shut in anguish, her tiny hand massaged at the well between her breasts. Fred found himself immediately at her side, his left hand clutching the hand at her chest as his other large hand cradled the back of her head and guided her gingerly back to the pillows. He settled himself on the edge of her bed, his hip pressing into her thigh. 

“Bloody hell, Granger,” he breathed, smoothing back her hair from the cold sweat that had appeared along her brow. “Didn’t you nearly die tonight? Don’t you know how to take it easy?”

Her eyes remained shut tight, teeth clenched whimpering, as she forced herself to take measured breaths. She clutched at his hand around hers, muscles taut and straining until slowly, slowly, the pain seemed to pass and she seemed to melt back into the bed. 

Fear, like a hot poker, seemed to have lodged itself in Fred’s throat. He swallowed thickly as Hermione’s eyes fluttered open once again to settle on his face. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” he croaked before a stifled sob tore past his teeth. He collapsed over her gracelessly, burying his face in crook of her neck, even as his right arm came up around to cradle her head. 

Fred breathed hard, just managing to keep his tears from overwhelming him. Hermione, for her part, awkwardly patted what she could reach of his head, whispering soothing sounds as he fought to pull himself together. 

“It’s alright, Fred. I’m alright,” she murmured.

Those words struck a cord in Fred and he yanked back from her jarringly, fury replacing his earlier anguish at her pain. 

“The fuck you are, Hermione,” he bit out, watching with some measure of satisfaction as her eyes widened in consternation. “What were you thinking? You nearly died!”

“I…” she fumbled, glassy eyes blinking rapidly at his savage tone. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she pulled her hand from his grasp. 

He growled low in his throat. Reaching out, he wrapped long fingers around her wrist, tugging slightly to regain her attention. “I thought you were the brightest witch of your age,” he berated. Her lip trembled. “What could have possibly possessed you?”

Tears were streaming down her ruddy cheeks. “Harry.”

“Of course, Harry,” he snapped, rolling his eyes. 

Hermione's gaze cut to him sharply and she glared before prying her wrist from his grasp once more. “Yes, _Harry_ ,” she spat, absently rubbing where he’d gripped her. “He had another vision.”

“A vision,” Fred said incredulously, even as he felt his stomach drop.

“The very same that saved your father at Christmas.”

All the air left Fred in a whoosh. He felt as though she’d punched in him the stomach. He stared unseeing as Hermione scrubbed her hands down her face before the fell heavily to her lap.

She studied her hands. Her voice was quiet when she continued. “He saw Vol-Voldemort. Saw him torturing S-sirius.” She swallowed hard, gasping. 

Gently, far more gently than the last time, Fred reached out for her hands to thread his fingers through hers.

“Sirius?” he whispered questioningly, though he knew from Tonks that Sirius had battled his crazy cousin, Bellatrix, had fallen through the Veil. 

Crying in earnest now, Hermione sobbed out, “It was a t-trap. He l-lured Harry there in an attempt to get the P-prophecy. Sirius is g-gone.” Fred leaned forward, snaking his arm behind her back and pulling her gently forward until her head was cradled under his chin. Heavy, anguished sobs flooded the space between them.

Fred hummed to her, rocking her gently, and rubbing circles across her back. 

Hermione pulled back from him then, her face screwed up in grief as tears continued to stream down her cheeks. 

“We checked!” she wailed, her eyes wild. “Harry u-used Umbridge’s floo. K-kreatcher lied!”

Tenderly cupping her cheeks in his hands, Fred dragged his thumbs under her red-rimmed eyes. His face was pained. “Why, Hermione? Why didn’t you use the notebook?”

Her eyes widened impossibly further. Reaching up to grip his hands still at her face, she shook her head, eyes falling between them. “I… I. There wasn’t time! Harry, he insisted we go right away.” Her horror-filled eyes met him. “I didn’t… I didn’t even… It never crossed my mind. Oh, Fred,” she moaned wretchedly, sobs wracking her body as she dropped her hand to her chest once more. 

Pulling back, she fell heavily against the pillows. Hermione then seemed to curl in on herself, her free hand clutching her head in distress. She clenched her teeth again, sobs wracking her shoulders even as she tried to breath through the renewed pain.

Panic dousing him like ice water, Fred twisted around so he could lay himself out next to her on the small bed. He pulled her forehead to his, petting her hair and rubbing her arms in a blundering attempt at comfort.

“Shh, please, Hermione. I didn’t mean it like that. It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.” Words tumbled out of him at he massaged his fingers into her hair. “Please, Hermione, I’m sorry. I was just so scared.”

The pained expressions eased from her face and sad, brown eyes opened to his. Without thinking, Fred leaned forward, pressing his thin lips to her wet ones. The kiss was chaste but lingering, full of emotions that neither could express. He pulled back keeping his forehead pressed to hers.

“I haven’t been that utterly terrified since Ginny got dragged down into the Chamber of Secrets,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes studiously avoiding hers. He pressed another kiss to her lips before gathering his courage and locking eyes with Hermione once more. “Promise me,” he suddenly demanded, his eyes fierce. “Promise me, next time, you will tell me. You will write me. You will bloody well drag me along. Gods, Hermione, please.” He swallowed when his voice cracked. 

Hermione tentatively touched his cheek. “There won’t be a next time.”

Fred snorted sardonically, rolling his eyes. “Merlin’s soggy left testi…”

“Fred!”

He sighed, exasperated. “We both know there will always be a next time, Hermione. You, Ron, and Harry can’t seem to stay out of trouble any more than George and I ever could.”

Hermione gasped a soft laugh. “We aren’t as bad as all that,” she argued weakly with no heat.

“Worse,” Fred agreed. 

Smiling wanly, she poked him half-heartedly in the chest. He grasped her hand, curling his around it and cradling it to his chest.

“Promise me.”

“Fred,” she sighed.

He shook his head. “No, Hermione. Next time, I’m there. Next time, I get the chance to help protect you. Please, just give me that.”

Scowling, her voice rose in mild indignation. “I think I can take care of myself, Fred Weasley.”

Fred viciously bit his tongue to keep in his sarcastic retort. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want the chance,” he ground out.

A long, heavy silence lapsed between them. The only sound was their mingled breath and the weak snores coming from one bed over.

Finally, “I promise.” 

Collapsing in relief, Fred sank more heavily into the bed and wrapped his arm carefully around her hips. 

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, pressing his lips to hers in a brief kiss. Fred nuzzled his nose against hers a moment. “Close your eyes now. I’ll stay until you’re asleep again.”

Hermione blinked rapidly at that. “You won’t be here when I wake?” she asked, distress evident in her voice.

Fred smirked and kissed her again. “Would be mighty suspicious, love, if Ronnikins, or Poppy for that matter, were to catch us in bed together. Care to explain to them just why we’re so close?”

Hermione scowled.

“Don’t fret, Hermione. I’ll be there to greet you all at the platform when you get off the train in just a few days.”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled before settling against him, breathing in deeply even as her eyes fell heavily. She slowly drifted to sleep as Fred held her close. 

The heavy shadows were mere wisps of grey as Fred snuck his way back out of the castle short hours later.


	8. Missing and Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during DH. Hermione, Fred, and Ron volunteer for the mission that leads to the Battle of the Seven Potters. Fred saves Hermione from Ron. Much angst.

Alone. That was how Hermione Granger felt deep inside, though she nearly successfully buried it beneath her drive and dedication, ignored it despite the pang it would force upon her consciousness unexpectedly. Fred left. Fred and George Weasley both. They’d left Hogwarts just over a year ago in a gregarious flash of sparklers and fire, defying “Headmistress” Dolores Umbridge, and generally causing chaos in what was an admittedly brilliant marketing scheme.

At the time, Hermione had been proud of them. Not that she ever would have admitted that to anyone even under the cruciatus curse. 

Fred had warned her. Of course he had. He’d used their secret journals, chickening out on telling her face-to-face despite being a big, brave Gryffindor. And, for what it was worth, Hermione had understood. The joke shop, a very real dream due to the twin’s surprising financial and business savvy, was something Fred had always talked about doing one day. It was everything he and George had worked toward and Hermione would be damned if she would ever stand in the way of such a dream. Even if it meant he didn’t finish his formal schooling. Though, if their constant drive to perfect their products and the nearly instant success of their store was any indication, they wouldn’t need it. Even if it meant she would be lonely. Because he would have graduated two years before her anyway. Because she still had the journal.

But for a long time, Fred hardly wrote in the journal. Hermione had taken to writing on a brand new page each day to delineate just how long it had been since his last contact. It didn’t help. If anything, seeing page after page of just her flowing script made the ache in her chest clench painfully and her throat feel tight. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to finally admit to herself that he wasn’t just too busy, to chalk it up as a bad job and quit writing to him altogether. Confused and angry and desperately wishing to understand just why he seemed to have given up on her, she was unable to completely part with the journal he had created for her. For them. For all that really seemed to matter. Instead, she kept it in the bottom of her school trunk, covered in other much more important books. Still safe. Still there. But no longer the daily reminder of the friendship and love--was it really love--that she’d once felt for Fred bloody Weasley. 

If she was being honest, she wasn’t over it. Not completely. Not even close, damn it all, if the burning in her eyes and the pinch in her throat were any indication. But those thoughts did her no favors now. No, not one bloody favor because now they were all sitting in on an Order meeting; Hermione, Ron, George, and Fred. Fred who was looking anywhere but toward her side of the room where she perched stiffly next to Ron in one of the numerous uncomfortable wooden chair someone had set out in a wide semicircle around the room. 

They were discussing a rescue mission of vital importance. Of age, she and Ron (mostly she) had argued successfully to be included, inducted as full members despite one year of Hogwarts remaining. Many of the adults present looked on disapprovingly as those they perceived as children volunteered for what they all hoped would be a smooth mission, retrieving Harry Potter from number 4 Privet Drive before he turned 17 and any protections granted him there were gone for good. Hermione was amongst the first to volunteer. Unwillingly, her eyes slid to Fred’s glowering face as he and George stepped forward, followed by a determined Fleur and Bill. There was no joking lilt to his face. Even George’s smirk seemed grim as partners were assigned, details were hashed out. The twins argued ferociously and adamantly they not be separated until Moody finally growled they would accept their assignments or be banned. 

Meeting dismissed, Hermione silently berated herself for lingering in the room, dazed but acknowledging any who made comment to her and the stormy-faced Ron who sat uncomfortably close to her side. Her heart clenched bitterly in her chest as she warred with not wanting to hurt Ron, and steadfastly refusing to believe what all the signs were pointing to. Unfortunately, Hermione couldn’t seem to bring herself to care for Ron. Not the way she always so easily seemed to care for Fred. She snorted at herself, frustrated and shaking her head in mild disgust. See where those feelings had gotten her?

“What?”

Hermione jumped, barely managing to hold in her startled squeak. Ron just rolled his eyes at her. “Jumpy, aren’t we?” 

Sniffing disdainfully, she felt herself shrug. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Ron said, his voice laced with sarcasm. Crossing his arms in a pout, he slouched further down into the hard seat. “You were touchy about _something_ before term ended. And now it seems each time I’m with you this summer you’ve been down right brooding.”

She scoffed, riotous curls shaking vigorously as she sighed. “Oh, honestly, Ron. I am not brooding.”

“Could have bloody well fooled me,” he growled in exasperation, raking a hand through his messy orange hair. “You’ve been shirty since you arrived at the meeting.”

Anger flared, sharpening the warm brown of her eyes. Huffing, she stood, glaring daggers down at him. “I’ve not,” she declared bitterly, hands balled in fists at her side. “Just because you don’t know what it’s like to have things weighing on your mind…”

With an inarticulate yell, Ron lumbered to his feet. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, using his not insignificant height to tower over her.

Unwanted guilt nagged at her, and she looked away scowling before pinching the bridge of her nose. She did not want to argue with him. Not again.

Hermione sighed. “Nothing. It means nothing, Ron.” She dropped her hand with a groan and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m just worried about the mission.” She mumbled the last. 

A small smile tweaking of his lips was all the warning she had before he pulled her into a stiff, awkward embrace. He swayed with her, rubbing clumsy circles on her back. “Hey,” he breathed into her hair. “It’ll be alright, Mione. Things will feel better once you’re staying at the Burrow.”

He pulled back then, his rough cheek brushing harshly against hers. Hermione’s body clenched in dread when Ron stopped, his face entirely too close. Hot puffs of air curled around her face. He smiled softly, his eyes focusing briefly on her lips. 

Squeaking in dismay, Hermione yanked herself from his grip, turning her back, shoulders hunched in on herself. She could feel the annoyance and frustration radiating off him. 

Gesturing feebly, she cleared her throat. “I… I have to go, Ron. To look up…” Eyes wide, her stomach rolled in panic, as no excuses readily came to her. Desperate, her gaze snapped to movement in the doorway, only to feel her throat close painfully.

“Granger,” Fred drawled lazily, shoulder perched against the doorframe, his long legs crossed at the ankle as he stared almost bored at his nails. He was dressed in typical Weasley Wizard Wheezes attire; an obnoxiously checkered silk shirt, a surprisingly matching tie, and deep brown tweed vest and trousers. His boots were bright green dragonhide, and gods if he didn’t look every bit as arrogant as Malfoy ever had. More unsure now than ever, Hermione stood frozen between the two redheads, her eyes locked unwaveringly on Fred who refused to acknowledge her any further.

Behind her, Ron groaned. “Get lost, George.” 

Hermione winced, dropping her head. Fred snorted mirthlessly before pushing off the door and strolling leisurely into the room, the heels of his boot clicking sharply on the worn wood floor. Still rooted to the spot, Hermione tracked his progress from beneath her lashes, but Fred never once glanced her way. 

“No can do, Ronnikins. Granger here promised me some research for improving the effects of Daydream Charms, and I intend to collect.”

Turning awkwardly, Hermione’s gaze darted between the brothers. Ron’s scowl deepened and his shoulders hunched as he shoved fists deep in his pockets. 

“Mione wouldn’t help you with a prank,” Ron insisted, though his voice was tinged with the slightest hint of uncertainty. 

The cool smile Fred turned to his youngest brother didn’t reach his eyes. “Not a prank. Daydream Charm. Entirely harmless, I assure you.”

Ron stared hard at Fred, his gaze flicking briefly to her. Grimacing, she nodded.

“It’s true,” she offered weakly, clasping her hands in front of her.

“When?” Ron asked skeptically, his eyes continuing to glance between the two of them as if he was certain they were setting him up. For what, Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea. That thought made her sad, because there had been a time when she might have known what Fred was up to. 

Unaware of her growing melancholy, Fred shook his head in apparent bemusement. “Last summer,” he announced confidently, though Hermione swore she heard bitterness tinting his words. “Before you lot went back to Hogwarts. Told me they were a brilliant bit of magic, she did, though she thought she could do better.” 

That is exactly how that conversation had gone Hermione reflected, though her remembrance of it was a bit more playful than Fred was implying. She certainly hadn’t thought Fred was insulted by her quip at the time, not with the way his smirk had slide into a full smile, brightening his whole face. She felt her cheeks flush just remembering how delighted she’d felt causing that particular smile.

Lips pursed, face sour, Ron scoffed at them. “Fine. Whatever.” Shoulders hunched around his ears, he stalked past them both, pausing at the door. “See you later, Hermione.” And then he was gone.

Standing awkwardly in the ever thickening silence, Hermione studied the nonchalant Fred. “Thank you,” she whispered to the space between them. 

Pulling himself up to his full height, Fred nodded. With a humorless snort, he shrugged. “Yes, well, it is true.” Hard, hazel eyes snapped to hers. “You _did_ promise to send me an improved formula.”

Blinking hard, Hermione jawed at him in surprise.

Grimacing, Fred shook his head in disgust. With long strides, he followed his youngest brother out the door before pausing like Ron had. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, biting his lip as his hand waved around him in frustration. His eyes were sad when they finally met hers and he sighed, exasperated, before shaking his head once more and walking away without another word.

Hot tears cut tracks down her cheeks. Hermione slumped into a chair, eyes staring in blank horror at gaping door. Her head swam in confusion. 

“But I did,” she whispered to the empty room.


	9. Fit, Fits & Firewhiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during DH. Hermione wakes from a nightmare after the Battle of Seven Potters. She and Fred find one another in the Burrow kitchen and proceed to work some things out. You'll realize how clever that is once you read the chapter.

Her terrified gasp pierced the heavy silence of the room she shared with Ginny. She flailed in muted panic, struggling mightily before Hermione managed to throw off the clinging, twisted sheets. Finally free, she lay panting for a time, clutching at her erratically beating chest. 

Harry was safe. Her… her parents. She swallowed hard past the knot in her throat, not even bothering to acknowledge the burn in her eyes. They were safe, too. As safe as she could make them. George, poor George, was injured but otherwise okay. And Mad-Eye… she swallowed again sharply before swinging her feet over the side of the bed to cradle her head in her hands. Hot tears dotted her bare thighs and she pressed the heel of her hand into her eyes to stem the flow. With a low growl, she stood, scanning the other bed quickly to see Ginny somehow managing to sleep soundly. From the looks of the empty potion bottle on the nightstand, the redhead had made use of a Dreamless Draught. 

Grabbing her wand and tiptoeing, Hermione slunk her way down the tall, rickety stairs of the Burrow only just remembering to avoid the squeaky third step Fred had once told her about. She padded barefoot past the back of the couch, peeking over to smile warmly at the softly snoring George. Moonlight from the nearby window highlighted the white bandages wrapped around his head and threw shadows across his messy, tousled hair. Someone, she noticed, had spelled some thin pajama bottoms on the stocky man, neglecting a shirt in the warm summer night. 

The sight made her stomach clench as her thoughts inevitably drifted to George’s identical-in-nearly-every-way twin brother. No. No, she told herself. This was George. And while to most of the world the twins were interchangeable, Hermione Granger knew better. Knew Fred better. Or at least she had at one time, and this most certainly was not Fred. Fred never managed to look that peaceful the few times she’d caught him sleeping. No. Somehow Fred always managed to look as if he were plotting and scheming, even in a dead sleep. The soft smile on her lips slid into a scowl. 

No. She shook her head forcefully. Not Fred. 

A loud, whining snore snapped her attention to the injured man’s face and her breath caught in her chest. George’s head tossed briefly before he settled down again with a sigh. Exhale whooshing in relief, Hermione scanned over him for any overt signs of distress. Seeing none, she allowed her eyes to wander to the pale, freckled hand laying limp across his broad chest. A hand that was just barely covering the smattering of ginger hair beneath it. Without conscious consent, her eyes continued their leisurely stroll down to his flat stomach, and the thicker trail of hair beginning just at his bellybutton. 

Good gods, the twins were fit. 

Suddenly realizing she was practically feasting on George’s prostrate form, Hermione flushed furiously. Well, she mused, at least those thoughts were better than what had woken her. She blushed harder imagining the teasing she would have to endure if George ever caught wind of her late-night perusal. Insufferable wouldn’t even _begin_ to describing the smug smirk she could readily imagine flitting across his sleep-slack face.

Shaking her head with an embarrassed smirk, Hermione turned pointedly away from the sleeping man and continued on quickly toward the kitchen, the door swinging shut silently on well-used hinges. The night here was darker, the moon hidden from this side of the house, though she could just make out a hint of the large, scarred wooden table and the range off to the right where the kettle sat. Casting a quick _Aguamenti_ and heating charm, Hermione busied herself gathering the tea leaves and her favorite mug from the cupboard, expertly cancelling her charm just before the kettle whistled. 

Chore finished, she leaned her hip against the familiar counter, holding the warm comfort in her hands and inhaling deeply. 

“You know, Firewhiskey works better.” 

Hermione startled violently, gasping as she fumbled her mug and sent scalding water splashing across her arm. Fred was at her side immediately, his wand already glowing with a warm _Lumos_ to assess the damage. 

“Merlin’s tit, Hermione. I thought you knew I was here,” he berated even as he snatched the near-empty mug from her hand, setting it down to gently grasp her wrist. 

Hermione whimpered.

Fred shot her a concerned look before returning his full attention back to her burn. He whispered a quick charm and Hermione sighed in relief as the pain eased.

Holding her wrist for a moment longer than strictly necessary, Fred scowled down at her searchingly. With a defeated sigh, he dropped her arm to turn toward the cupboard and pull down a glass tumbler. He gestured with it at her surprised face, pointing at her almost in accusation.

“Firewhiskey.”

Her eyes widened as she leaned slightly back from his hard stare. “Firewhiskey?” she asked slowly as she might a temperamental child. Or temperamental Weasley, regardless of age, apparently. 

Hazel eyes glared at her. “Yes. Sit.” 

Scrambling to comply for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, Hermione sat clumsily at the table, noticing for the first time the half-empty bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey next to a second empty tumbler. Fred sat heavily in the chair at the head of the table just to her left, slamming the clean tumbler he carried down with a loud crack and tipping a generous pour into both glasses. He pushed one toward her, eyeing her warily until she took up the glass. Grabbing his, he took a healthy mouthful, wincing with a groan as he swallowed.

Leaning back into his chair, Fred studied her over the rim of his glass. He nodded his chin up at her.

“Drink.”

Hermione’s lip curled and she daintily sniffed at the drink in her hand. “Fred, I don’t think-”

“Nightmares?” he asked, cutting her off. As she nodded, he did also as if confirming something to himself. “Then drink. It’ll make you feel better than tea could. Trust me.” He said the last with a muted sneer, turning his head away in an attempt to hide his expression.

Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione brought the whiskey to her lips. She took a small swallow only to cough roughly as it burned down into her belly, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Getting herself under control, she turned wet-rimmed eyes to him.

Fred sniffed. “It gets easier.” He gestured with his tumbler. “The more you drink, the easier it gets.” He took another sip, still grimacing, but without the accompanying groan. 

Setting her glass down on the table in front of her, Hermione dropped her hands down into her lap. “Why would you do it to yourself enough to even know it gets better?”

Fred snorted a laugh before downing the rest of his glass in one go. He set it down, leaning forward to snag her drink. “Sirius told me once that Firewhiskey makes everything better.” He held up her glass, studying the amber liquid, swirling it gently.

She watched him, fingers clasped and shoulders hunched. “As I understand, Sirius was also being chased by some bloody awful demons.”

Elbows on the table, he leaned toward her now, his eyes squinting. “And my demons, Granger?” He whispered, forcing a casualness to the question that she knew to be a lie. 

Leaning forward, she matched his intensity, glittering brown eyes boring into his. “He’s still alive, Fred,” she whispered back. 

With a growl, Fred dropped back in his chair. Despite turning his head away, Hermione caught the slight shimmer of tears as they slid down his face. He sniffed once, scratching at his face before turning back to her.

“Heard what you did to your parents.” His tone was just shy of accusatory, and Hermione bristled. She snatched the tumbler away from him, chugging the glass before slapping it down on the table. 

“You’re a bloody arse, Fred Weasley,” she wheezed, making to stand, to storm out, but he grasped her wrist insistently. 

“Don’t,” he said, panic edging his tone as his grip tightened. He swallowed, nodding. “You’re right. I’m an arse. But, I…” He turned pleading eyes on her before looking anywhere else. “I need you, Hermione. Please.”

Hermione dropped back into her seat and stared at him in a mixture of concern and anger. Long moments passed with the only sound the ticking of an old, oddly bent grandfather clock.

“Why’d you stop?” she finally blurted, brows furrowed in long suppressed bitterness.

Fred stared at her as if she were barmy. “What?”

Hermione shook her head, wisps of curls tickling her cheeks. “I mean, I knew you were busy, what with the shop and all, and inventing new products, keeping up with demand. And I never… I never expected you to write back as often as I did, but…” A sad sigh left her lips and she turned hollow eyes to him. “Why did you stop, Fred?” 

All throughout her rant, Fred’s eyes had slowly narrowed in suspicion. “I did write,” he sneered, his face twisted in ugly resentment. 

“Not since last summer, Fred!”

“Bollocks!” he yelled, slapping a hand down on the tabletop making her jump. “Every bloody night, Hermione. For months!”

“No.” Hermione was shaking her head adamantly. Hot tears blurred her vision and she struggled awkwardly to her feet. Again, Fred reached out and gripped her wrist, this time tugging her toward him until her eyes met his.

“I swear, Hermione. On George’s life, I swear.”

Hermione slumped, boneless, into her chair and collapsed forward to bury her face in her arms. Sobs wracked her shoulders and she only cried harder when she felt the warm strip that was Fred press into her side and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

Months and months of tension and doubt and worry poured out of her in a torrent. “I thought I did something wrong, that you were angry with me. Every night I wrote you, Fred. Every single night. And then the whole Won-Won and Lavender fiasco. Gods, I-I was a mess! I missed you s-so much, Fred, and they just kept bloody rubbing it in my face. And the Slug Club! Fred! I had to take sleaze-ball _Cormac_ to the Slug Club because Ron had bloody convinced himself I was jealous. He just kept looking at me with these pity filled eyes, the bastard, thinking that all the time I was upset over you, it was because of him. Him! And then Dumbledore! Oh, Fred! And my p-parents!”

All the time, Fred hummed to her soothingly, brushing fingers through her sweat-damp hair. Slowly, slowly, Hermione calmed. Fred pressed his mouth to her curls and squeezed her shoulder. Turning in his embrace, Hermione wrapped her arms around his ribcage, locking her wrists together at his back even as he locked his arms around her slim shoulders. 

They sat in companionable silence for long moments.

“You did the right thing with your parents, Hermione.”

She swallowed. “Did I?”

Fred sighed. “They might not agree where they to ever find out.” Hermione tensed and he squeezed her again, reassuringly. “But what you did, Hermione? That was incredibly selfless and brave. To do what you did? I don’t know that I could do that.”

A weak smile graced her lips. “Thank you, Fred.” 

Silence again cloaked them in a comfortable embrace until Hermione cleared her throat.

“We’re leaving,” she whispered into his chest.

Fred nodded, unsurprised. “When?”

“After the wedding.”

He nodded again. “For how long?”

She was silent a long moment. “Until it’s over.”

Fred squeezed her and she pretended not to notice how his breath caught in his chest.

“Do you need anything?”

Hermione shook her head still pressed over his heart soaking up all the comfort she could. “I packed up days ago.”

He nodded again. Hermione grasped him tighter.

“Fred?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

His grip tightened around her until she thought she she might be dizzy, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. Her stomach clenched delightfully at the tender contact.

“Fred?”

Something in her voice made him pause before his grasp loosened just enough he could pull back and look questioningly down into her shining eyes. Before she could think it through or talk herself out of it, Hermione scrambled up to straddle his lap. She watched him shyly through her lashes, bright blush staining her cheeks so hard it was visible even in the darkness.

“Hermione?” he said hoarsely, his hands dropping down to grip on her hips.

She kissed him, pressing her warm, full lips to his in a chaste kiss. She pulled back to study him. 

Fred blinked dumbly at her. Then he lunged forward, crashing his lips to hers, tangling his hands in her hair to pull her to him. His tongue delved into her mouth, touching, seeking, caressing, and she moaned. 

With a strangled groan, Fred pulled away from her panting hard. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed tight.

“What?” he gasped out before his eyes snapped open to lock with hers. “What are we-”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, cutting off his inquiry. Hermione rolled her hips into his experimentally. Fred groaned low and loud, his hand dropping to clench her hip tightly. He speared her with intense eyes.

“I’m afraid, Fred,” she whispered, their breath mingling in the space between them. “Afraid of this war.” Her fingers danced over the shell of his ear. “Afraid of what might happen.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his stubbled cheek before placing them next to his ear. “We wasted a whole year, Fred,” she breathed, delighting in the shudder that wracked his body. She pulled back to look in his eyes once again. “What if we never have another opportunity?”

His nostrils flared. “Do you know what you’re asking?” he asked in a pained whine.

Hermione chuckled. “I have a fair notion.”

Fred snorted, rolling his eyes. He arched forward and began placing hot, open mouth kisses along her jaw. “This.” Kiss. “Might be.” Kiss. “A terrible.” Kiss. “Idea.”

Strong fingers gripped her bum, massaging gently. She rocked her hips into his again, kissing him on the mouth hard. “But it isn’t,” she whispered insistently. “I want you, Fred. Now. If and when this is all over. And I’m quite desperate to feel something other than afraid.”

His kiss was gentle, tender, and so full of emotions neither were quite ready to say aloud. He stood, setting her on her feet before twining his fingers through hers and leading her from the kitchen. Hurriedly she flicked her wand, sending the tumblers and Ogden’s back to their cupboard as the kitchen door shut behind her. Fred led her through the living room, up the stairs, hopping expertly over the third step, to the room the twins once shared and the small bed there. 

Fred locked and silenced the room as Hermione, stomach clenched tight, cast a contraceptive charm Ginny had taught her last year. She then sat stiffly on the bed. Fred reached for her wand, setting it next to his on the side table. He encouraged her to lay back as he spread himself out next to her. Head propped up on an elbow, Fred traced teasing fingers down her side, staring intently into her face.

“Are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “I am. I just…” She felt her cheeks boil. “I’ve never done this before,” she muttered.

Orange eyebrows rose to his hairline. “And you think I have?” His hand never stopped caressing her side.

Hermione glared at him incredulously and he snorted. “Fine,” he confessed. “Once. In a broom closet. It wasn’t much more awkward than this.” He grinned wickedly.

If anything, her glare deepened. “Do I even… no. I don’t want to know.” His grin widened, until she jabbed him in the chest. “It wasn’t Angelina, was it?”

Fred laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t Angelina. George would have my bollocks.”

She grew quiet, her fingers twisting anxiously. Fred smirked down at her, watching for a moment before leaning down to kiss her ear. 

“What do you want, Hermione?” he whispered, breath caressing where his lips had been.

Shuddering, her stomach coiled delightedly at the sensation. She clenched her eyes shut to hide from his expression and licked her lips. “I… I want to touch you,” she breathed. 

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Where?”

Biting her lip, she wrinkled her nose. “Your chest.”

The bed shifted as Fred sat up, pulling the thin cotton t-shirt over his head. He settled back down, folding both arms up behind his head and offering her unfettered access to do as she pleased. Opening her eyes, Hermione raked her gaze across the hard planes of his chest, so very like George’s she had ogled just hours ago. 

The twins really were quite fit.

Reaching out a tentative hand, Hermione grazed feather-light fingertips across his collarbone, down his chest, and over his stomach, watching in delighted fascination as the muscles beneath corded and jumped. Bolder, she dug her splayed fingers through the valley of his chest letting the sparse hair there tickle her palm. She dragged her fingers around, alternating between the pads and her nails, listening intently to the pants and groans she pulled from him with just this simple touch. A spark of bright desire flared between her legs when he moaned as her finger ghosted over a pale, flat nipple. 

She grinned.

Leaning forward, she kissed tenderly across his collarbone and up the column of his neck. Fred squirmed and fidgeted, obviously fighting himself not to grab her and take control. Smothering a smirk, Hermione pressed wet, breathy kisses down his chest, pausing to flick a tentative tongue across his nipple. Fred jumped and grabbed her, spinning her so quickly beneath him she felt dizzy. 

“My turn,” he declared, fingers dancing under the hem of her t-shirt, rising up, up to brush just under the swell of her breast. Hermione shut her eyes tight, arching into his touch. Following along the curve of her breast, his fingers traced along her collarbone, tickling her, warming her, and she hummed. 

Pulling her to sit upright, Fred knelt beside her and slowly drew her shirt up and over her head giving her ample time to protest. Tossing the shirt across the room, he gently guided her back down, staring so intently she began to squirm and reached up to cover herself and the long scar that ran from between her breast down across her stomach and curled around her bottom right rib. 

His eyes met hers and she looked away. 

“You’re beautiful, Hermione,” he breathed, his voice choked with awed reverence. She looked to him again and he reached for her wrists. Gently pulling them away, he brushed his lips across the very top of her scar. “Beautiful.” He kissed her lips gently before sitting back on his heels and resuming his teasing, touching exploration. 

Brilliantly calloused fingers skimmed over her heated skin, between her breasts, down her sides, up her arms. She squealed when rough fingers pinched lightly at her pebbled nipple. 

Laying atop her, his tongue plundered her mouth and he pressed his hardness into her. She moaned, her legs spreading wider to accommodate him. Scrambling for purchase, she raked her nails down his back, pausing as she fingered the waistband of his pajama trousers. He smirked against her throat.

“Do you want to touch me, Hermione?” he whispered. 

She swallowed hard but nodded. Kissing her swiftly, Fred backed off the bed to stand silhouetted against the window. He quickly yanked off his sleep trousers and pants and took a hesitant step toward her. 

Curious, Hermione sat up on the edge of the bed and reached out. Fingertips brushed silky hardness and Fred gasped, jerking into her touch. Ghosting her fingers along his length and delighting in his moans, she experimentally swirled a finger around the dark head pulling back in surprise when she felt wetness at the tip. Fred whimpered, standing so rigidly his body shook. Squaring her shoulders, she reached out again, this time wrapping her hand around him and giving a squeeze. 

Fred groaned loudly, his hips pumping into her fist. Taking a steadying breath, Hermione suddenly dipped her head forward and licked the tip.

“Fuck,” Fred shouted, his hands clenching convulsively as Hermione took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked. He reached quickly for her shoulders, pushing her back and away. “I won’t… you can’t…” he mumbled, panting hard. He caught sight of her timid look and growled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“It’s just…” he sighed. “It’s been awhile. I’ll cum way too soon if you start that,” he muttered. 

“Oh.”

“Next time,” he declared. “You are more than welcome next time.” He climbed gingerly back into bed, lying next to her and tracing her side with his fingers. Hermione could feel him pressing into her hip and squirmed.

“Stop that,” Fred demanded, tweaking a dusty nipple. Hermione yelped, kicking out uncontrollably. Smirking, Fred tweaked it again. “Like that?” he teased before dipping his head to take it between his lips. 

“Oh Merlin,” Hermione gasped out as Fred tugged a nipple gently with his teeth. Stomach fluttering under his hand, her breath caught in her throat when his long fingers brushed the waistband of her sleep shorts, barely dipping beneath the hem. 

“Fred,” she asked, breathless, when he grasped her shorts and knickers, drawing them down and off her legs. He pulled her knee up, spreading her legs wide and tickling along her inner thigh as she quivered and writhed in anticipation.

And then he touched her and she convulsed up, wailing at the sensation. Feather light strokes against her clit, taunting and teasing, and she fell back on the bed panting his name. He grazed his fingers down her slit, probing gently at her entrance. Sliding first one finger, then two into her heat, he pumped steadily even as she pressed herself into his cupped hand. Her stomach clenched, pooling warmth and she keened. 

Fred leaned down, his lips whispering over her ear. “Can I taste you, Hermione?” he asked, his voice husky and deep. 

The feeling in her stomach intensified and she babbled. “Yes! Oh gods, Fred, please.”

The fingers left her and she whimpered even as she felt the delicious scrape of his stubble against her stomach as he began kissing his way down her body. Hot breath caressed her clit and then his tongue was dragging up her slit, whirling around her clit before he latched on and sucked. 

She shattered. Her hips arched and thrust into him, grabbing his hair and pulling as her orgasm ripped through her body. And she wept, the tingling waves so intense she felt it in her cheeks and the palms of her hands. 

Fred climbed up her body quickly, aligning himself at her entrance. Thrusting into her, he stilled, her body tensing even as her brain struggled to process this new feeling. Slowly, she came back to herself, the feeling of fullness replacing the pinched pulling. Blinking, lust-hazed brown eyes focused on his hazel, concern, desire, and need warring in their depths. Gripping his shoulders, Hermione nodded and Fred began to slowly thrust into her.

She moaned, low and loud, and Fred’s tightly held control slipped. He began pumping into her in earnest, panting into her ear and he held her tightly, his body slapping into hers. “Fuck, Hermione,” he groaned, shuddering as he came.

He kissed her brow tenderly before crawling to collapse at her side, hot breath puffing into the crook of her neck.

They lay together in the heavy silence, the darkness beginning to grey as morning approached, sweat slicking their skin where they were pressed together on the small bed. Hermione turned her head to find him watching her and smiled shyly, her cheeks burning pink.

Fred kissed the tip of her nose. “You alright?” he asked gently, fingers reaching to twine with hers.

She nodded, shifting to her side so she was tucked against his chest. “You?”

Fred nodded.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

He paused, inhaling deeply. “You really wrote me? Every day?” 

She burrowed deeper into his chest. “Right up until… until Dumbledore.”

He squeezed her tightly. “I wrote you until Christmas hols.” 

“What do you think happened?”

Fred shook his head and shrugged. “Dunno. Something must have gone wrong with one or more of the charms. I’ll work on and get it fixed by the time you three disappear.”

Hermione nodded and settled back into his chest. “I have to go, Fred,” she sighed at last.

He kissed her. “Come back tomorrow night?”

She sighed. “What about George?”

Fred paused. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Hermione pulled away, snorting. “Then the answer is no.” She climbed out of bed, searching the room for her night clothes. Fred tucked his hands behind his head, watching as she flexed and bent, his frown deepening the more clothes she pulled on. Finally, he stood, stalking to her and pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” he breathed into her hair. “Don’t do that again, Hermione.”

She nodded, smiling up at him with wet eyes. Her lips brushed against his, tongue darting out to touch his lip. “Love you, Fred,” she said, pulling away and slipping quickly out the door. 

Rushing down the hall to Ginny’s room, she darted in, wincing as she snapped the door closed before diving under her sheets, heart pounding, cheeks flaming. Hiding her face beneath her pillow, she groaned. Today was going to be so very awkward.


	10. The End/Dread the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during DH during the Final Battle. You know what happens, don't look at me like that.

The silence rang ominous after the fighting gave way to temporary reprieve. Dirty, bloody faces blurred to her exhausted gaze, each bearing a similar look of shock and horror. Everyone looked the same, and panic and frustration curdled in Hermione’s stomach as none of the faces dissolved into the one she sought the most. 

She had seen him, in the Room of Requirements before the fighting had commenced. Before Harry had run off with Luna, and Ron had convinced her to take a trip to Moaning Myrtle’s bath and down through the pipes she’d blessedly missed the first time round. 

Fred.

Had it truly been nearly a year since she’d last seen his face? At a wedding of all things, the thought of which now seemed preposterous. He’d made eyes at her from across the dance floor, and she’d blushed hotly, thrilling at the secret of their time together at the Burrow. She had even been making her way slowly, subtly she hoped, to his side when Viktor Krum had intercepted her and she’d been caught, unable to graciously bow away. 

And then the Patronus arrived. The Ministry had fallen. There was no more time.

Their eyes had locked. Of course they had. After she’d gripped tightly to Harry and Ron, there was no where else she could look. He was clutching George and Ginny, pulling them both away from the chaos, just as she did with her charges. His lips seemed to be forming her name, eyes wide with panic that she had just enough time to watch change to a look she could only describe as betrayal as she Apparated them away. 

The guilt had haunted her for months. Months and months of living in the woods, with harsh, angry words and hardly enough food and nothing to warm her bed except a ghost of an expression because he’d somehow cottoned on in that split second span that she was leaving him behind. Even after the night before, as they lay sweaty and sated in his bed for the third time in as many days and she’d lied through her perfect teeth that she wouldn’t. 

She had thought she’d never feel worse in her life, but that was before. Before they’d been half starved for the better part of a year. Before her neck had been rubbed raw and her mind trapsed through by a bloody Horcrux for months on end. Before Harry had spoken the taboo. Before they had been caught. Before… before Bellatrix. Before Hermione learned what real suffering was. 

She scratched then at her bandage covered arm that bore the word that had set her apart from many of her peers for all her years at Hogwarts. Despite Fleur's best attempts, the wound still burned and itched and oozed, festering beneath the now filthy bandage. Her dirty, jagged fingernails pressed into the wound, and gasping shocks of pain radiated up her arm and into her chest, but the effect was immediate. Mind now momentarily cleared by the pain, she looked again through the faces, searching for the most loved face she could imagine in this nightmare. 

Her eyes skittered past a crumpled heap of wall, flinching at the stain of blood she could still see through the dust. Hermione felt her stomach roll even as her breath hitched painfully in her chest, and she quickly looked away. 

Where was he? Fred. 

Heavy, leaden footsteps, hurried now by her heightening panic, brought her around the precariously hanging wooden door that was once the entrance to the Great Hall. 

It was the hair that drew her first. The shockingly red hair of the Weasley clan seemed to cut obscenely through the somber mood. They huddled close at the other end of the hall, gripping one another in desperation. The air seemed to vibrate with a low keening that she couldn’t quite bring herself to locate, but which caused her cramping guts to run with ice and Hermione could taste bile in the back of her throat. 

A broken cry from her right startled her out of her fog as Ron lunged forward down the long row only to slam into the waiting arms of his father. She hadn’t even realized he was beside her, so lost had she been in her search for his older brother. His older brother who she did not see in the group of gathered Weasleys who all stood in small clumps, clutching and crying onto each other's shoulders. Every Weasley save Fred, who she could not bloody find, and George. George, who she could only recognize now by his missing ear, whose broken and shaking form was huddled over something low to the ground, whose face was ashen and wrenched, whose curled lips, she realized with a jolt, emitted the wailing cry that seemed to seize her heart.

In that moment, Hermione’s ever present curiosity failed her. Feet frozen to the floor, she did not want to see what, or whom, it was George crouched over. She did not wish to ever know what could cause anyone, especially one of the twins, to create that gods awful sound. So great was her desire to simply NOT know that she stumbled backwards, away from the clashing red hair, away from the sorrow and grief that felt like a heavy, oppressive wool blanket snugging ever tighter around her shoulders. 

Sinewy arms caught around her waist before she could fall, and she flailed, twisting until she locked frenzied brown eyes with agonized green. Green eyes that she somehow managed to realize through her panic held not only grief, but _understanding_. 

Harry knew. She wasn’t sure what exactly he knew, but in that moment she hated him for it. 

Chapped lips parted, rasping out her name, but she shook her head frantically. 

“No.” Her voice sounded foreign in her ears, nearly as hoarse as it had been after screaming for what felt like years as Bellatrix leveled Cruciatus after Cruciatus at her. Oh gods, her chest hurt just as badly, worse, and for a moment her panic was so absolute, her vision washed white as found herself back on that expensive, blood-stained rug.

Obscurely, she felt herself being half carried, half dragged from the room, her jaw working uselessly on remembered screams. The solid, scratching surface of rough stone jarred her back into herself as Harry shoved her against a wall, a wall that gave her a perfect view of the dust and debris covered pool of blood she’d noticed only moments ago. Her vision tunneled, black narrowing her focus until only dirty red remained and moan of grief welled from her mouth. 

Her face wrenched to the side even as her cheek burned from the sharp sting. Shocked and furious, Hermione snapped back to stare at Harry, her mouth agape. His eyes were hard.

“You finally with me?” he spat and it was then she realized his hands were locked around her wrists, effectively pinning her arms to the unforgiving wall.

Hermione snarled, tugging uselessly at where he restrained her. “You hit me.”

“I did,” he agreed, searching her face and she willed herself to relax and search him back. It wasn’t the first time this year Harry had used force to snap her out of her own mind. Hell, she’d hit him nearly as much.

Harry’s face was coated in grime and sweat, his eyes devoid of emotion, and his glasses filmed over with so much filth an anxious giggle burst from her chest as she wondered how he could even see. He scowled.

“I need you with me,” he said cautiously. “I need your help. Hermione?” His voice grew weary, and she sagged, tears burning the back of her eyes as her head became too heavy to support any longer. 

“He… Fred…” 

So fast she was dizzy, Harry shifted his grip to her shoulders and shook her, hard, her head thudding jarringly against the wall at her back. “No, Hermione.”

She gaped at him, motioning as well she could toward the doors of the Great Hall. “But, Harry…”

“It will wait, Hermione. He will wait until later. Later,” he enunciated forcefully, his hold bruising, tone laced with so much authority and conviction that Hermione couldn’t seem to help but comply. Nodding, eyes closing, she exhaled shakily in concentration. They had found over the past six months of experimentation that Hermione had a bit more natural talent for Occlumency than Harry could claim. And while it made her stomach queasy and her head throb, she had proven able to suppress the baser emotions that sometimes threatened to leave her a worthless mess of emotions on the floor. 

Now, however, Hermione barely managed to force the raw, brittle emotions that even now threatened to overwhelm her behind the same rudimentary Occlumency shields she used to block the lingering effects of her guilt over her parents, over lying to Fred and leaving him behind, of her anger and hurt over Ron’s betrayal, of her torture. They certainly wouldn’t hold against even the slightest mental probing, but they provided enough distraction she could avoid the more crippling symptoms of her stress. Hermione refused to admit they were the only thing keeping her functioning and even to her inexperienced mind her shields felt bruised and blurred and tattered. 

Hermione feared “later” with more conviction that she feared Voldemort. 

She was slow to open her eyes after repressing so much. Harry was watching her, guilt warring with determination in his steely gaze. Despite being pants at Occlumency in general, he compartmentalized far better than she did. 

Shuddering, Hermione reached up to grasp the wrists that still held her shoulders and nodded to his questioning look.

“What do I need to do?” Her tone was even, flat, the trained soldier with a mission to complete. 

Harry sagged in relief. “The diadem. The Grey Lady said he hid it in the Room of Requirements, where I hid Snape’s old potions book.”

At that, Hermione glared but nodded. “We need to go now.”

Harry nodded, started to pull away. “I’ll go get Ron.”

Her eyes went wide, and her gut twisted. Panic flared hot in her belly and she grabbed at Harry’s retreating form. “No, Harry…”

“I’m here,” a gravelly voice cut off her protest and they both looked up to see Ron standing by the tettering door, eyes rimmed red and puffy, nose raw, wavering where he stood. Neither spoke a moment and Ron sneered, turning on the spot and striding heavily toward the stairs. “Haven’t got much time,” he called over his shoulder before powering his way up the stairs. 

Obediently, Harry and Hermione followed.

-o-

The cheers were worse than the silence had been. They felt forced and false amidst all the death and sorrow and destruction, and Hermione felt her resolve wavering, felt the tiny pinpricks of overwhelming grief and fear and terrible rage whispering through her chest, tingling in her cheeks, along her scalp, in the palms of her hands. 

They had won. But Hermione felt nothing so keenly as loss. 

Fred. 

She couldn’t think any further than his name without her chest seizing up in panic, breath punched from her abused lungs, sobs she still repressed racking her shoulders. She had to get away. 

So she climbed.

Step after step after step. And then another. She told herself the burning in her chest was because of the innumerable steps she climbed, out of practice as she was after a year on the run. And it almost worked. By the time she reached the bottom of the Astronomy Tower steps she felt numb. 

Hermione stared at the archway to the door for long moments, remembering flashes of memory and muted sensations from third year when she had climbed up these steps at what she had so very mistakenly thought was her lowest. Snatches of Fred so unwittingly coming to her rescue, of all that had happened since. 

She didn’t cry. Hermione wasn’t sure she would ever be able to cry despite the pervasive sadness that was now clouding the blessed numbness. An uncomfortable urgency settled in the pit that was her stomach. She was meant to be here. Unsure why, she felt with an absolute certainty that she hadn’t felt in perhaps ever that Fred wanted her here, wanted her to go back to where it had all started for them more than four years previous. 

So she climbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I know, alright?! I'm not happy about it either but the personal challenge I set myself was to stay as close to canon as possible. How'd I do? [Come squawk at me on tumblr.](http://emani-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Want a brief snapshot of what happens next? Read [The Journey Back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8693722).

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://emani-writes.tumblr.com/)!


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